


The Love That Dare Not Speak Its Name

by Humansunshine



Series: TLTDNSIN [1]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mundane, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Endgame Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Minor Character Death, Mundane Alec Lightwood, Mundane Magnus Bane, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-08
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-03-28 15:58:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13907406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Humansunshine/pseuds/Humansunshine
Summary: The year is 1894, and queer culture is quietly thriving in London and across Europe. Magnus Bane, an important and highly intelligent diplomat from Batavia, is nervous and thrilled to have been selected to negotiate greater freedoms for the people of his home country. Alec Lightwood is the eldest son of the Foreign Secretary, a dedicated student at Oxford University, and is writing his dissertation on international relations between the Dutch East Indies and the surrounding countries.They’ll have a lot to talk about when they meet in a society gala at the Houses of Parliament. Magnus has spent his life focussing on honing his mind so he can ignore his heart, and when that mind is met with the mind of Alexander Lightwood’s, his heart cannot stay silent any longer. Alec has spent the better part of his youth exploring his identity as an openly queer man in the microcosm of his college, and refuses to accept that Magnus, a successful diplomat, can’t have his cake and eat it too.Or: A mundane!Malec AU set in 1890s England and Amsterdam.





	1. ‘I Pray Thee Speak Me Sooth What is Thy Name?’

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, thank you to the artist who worked on this fic, Mason! You can find his tumblr here: http://shippagriff.tumblr.com/
> 
> Thanks also to my beta for this fic, Annie! You can find their tumblr here: http://aceraphaelsantiagos.tumblr.com/
> 
> Trigger Warnings for this first chapter: 
> 
> Period-typical racism: When Magnus arrives in London, he's greeted by some aides from the Foreign Office and they know basically nothing about Batavia and say some super ignorant things about Asia and Asians in general. They're never cruel to Magnus outright, but there's a lot of microaggressions.
> 
> Internalised homophobia/biphobia: Magnus is very uneasy about his identity in this first chapter. He's never been able to explore his feelings about men and the whole concept of romance between men is scary and overwhelming for him. He doesn't express hatred for Alec at any point but there is an undercurrent of curious unease.
> 
> Period-typical homophobia: A bellhop warns Magnus of Alec's queerness, calling him 'eccentric.'
> 
> Mention of possible non-con: Alec VERY BRIEFLY mentions a time when an older boy at school tried to force him to perform oral sex on him, but the story ends with the assaulter getting punched in the face by Alec. Warning just to be safe!
> 
> Mentions of murder: Discussion of Magnus' stepfather killing his father. Not graphic.
> 
>  
> 
> This fic is very special to me because this period of queer history was my specialty in university - I know a lot about this period and how the queer community worked in London around this time, and this was my way to express that knowledge and the love that I have for the brave queer people who paved the way for the community we have today. Oscar Wilde and his lover, Lord Alfred 'Bosie' Douglas are mentioned as Alec's friends in this fic, as well as Reggie Turner. All three men were very important in English queer history, though most have only heard of Wilde. I encourage you, once you've read this fic, to go and learn about all three of these men.
> 
> The title of this fic is taken from Lord Alfred 'Bosie' Douglas' poem 'Two Loves', published in 1892. It's long, but beautiful. Each chapter title borrows one of its lines, too. I'm adding the poem in the beginning of the first chapter because it can't fit here.

_ I dreamed I stood upon a little hill,  _ _   
_ _ And at my feet there lay a ground, that seemed  _ _   
_ _ Like a waste garden, flowering at its will  _ _   
_ _ With buds and blossoms. There were pools that dreamed  _ _   
_ _ Black and unruffled; there were white lilies  _ _   
_ _ A few, and crocuses, and violets  _ _   
_ _ Purple or pale, snake-like fritillaries  _ _   
_ _ Scarce seen for the rank grass, and through green nets  _ _   
_ _ Blue eyes of shy peryenche winked in the sun.  _ _   
_ _ And there were curious flowers, before unknown,  _ _   
_ _ Flowers that were stained with moonlight, or with shades  _ _   
_ _ Of Nature’s willful moods; and here a one  _ _   
_ _ That had drunk in the transitory tone  _ _   
_ _ Of one brief moment in a sunset; blades  _ _   
_ _ Of grass that in an hundred springs had been  _ _   
_ _ Slowly but exquisitely nurtured by the stars,  _ _   
_ _ And watered with the scented dew long cupped  _ _   
_ _ In lilies, that for rays of sun had seen  _ _   
_ _ Only God’s glory, for never a sunrise mars  _ _   
_ _ The luminous air of Heaven. Beyond, abrupt,  _ _   
_ _ A grey stone wall. o’ergrown with velvet moss  _ _   
_ _ Uprose; and gazing I stood long, all mazed  _ _   
_ _ To see a place so strange, so sweet, so fair.  _ _   
_ _ And as I stood and marvelled, lo! across  _ _   
_ _ The garden came a youth; one hand he raised  _ _   
_ _ To shield him from the sun, his wind-tossed hair  _ _   
_ _ Was twined with flowers, and in his hand he bore  _ _   
_ _ A purple bunch of bursting grapes, his eyes  _ _   
_ _ Were clear as crystal, naked all was he,  _ _   
_ _ White as the snow on pathless mountains frore,  _ _   
_ _ Red were his lips as red wine-spilith that dyes  _ _   
_ _ A marble floor, his brow chalcedony.  _ _   
_ _ And he came near me, with his lips uncurled  _ _   
_ _ And kind, and caught my hand and kissed my mouth,  _ _   
_ _ And gave me grapes to eat, and said, ‘Sweet friend,  _ _   
_ _ Come I will show thee shadows of the world  _ _   
_ _ And images of life. See from the South  _ _   
_ _ Comes the pale pageant that hath never an end.'  _ _   
_ _ And lo! within the garden of my dream  _ _   
_ _ I saw two walking on a shining plain  _ _   
_ _ Of golden light. The one did joyous seem  _ _   
_ _ And fair and blooming, and a sweet refrain  _ _   
_ _ Came from his lips; he sang of pretty maids  _ _   
_ _ And joyous love of comely girl and boy,  _ _   
_ _ His eyes were bright, and ‘mid the dancing blades  _ _   
_ _ Of golden grass his feet did trip for joy;  _ _   
_ _ And in his hand he held an ivory lute  _ _   
_ _ With strings of gold that were as maidens’ hair,  _ _   
_ _ And sang with voice as tuneful as a flute,  _ _   
_ _ And round his neck three chains of roses were.  _ _   
_ _ But he that was his comrade walked aside;  _ _   
_ _ He was full sad and sweet, and his large eyes  _ _   
_ _ Were strange with wondrous brightness, staring wide  _ _   
_ _ With gazing; and he sighed with many sighs  _ _   
_ _ That moved me, and his cheeks were wan and white  _ _   
_ _ Like pallid lilies, and his lips were red  _ _   
_ _ Like poppies, and his hands he clenched tight,  _ _   
_ _ And yet again unclenched, and his head  _ _   
_ _ Was wreathed with moon-flowers pale as lips of death.  _ _   
_ _ A purple robe he wore, o’erwrought in gold  _ _   
_ _ With the device of a great snake, whose breath  _ _   
_ _ Was fiery flame: which when I did behold  _ _   
_ _ I fell a-weeping, and I cried, ‘Sweet youth,  _ _   
_ _ Tell me why, sad and sighing, thou dost rove  _ _   
_ _ These pleasent realms? I pray thee speak me sooth  _ _   
_ _ What is thy name?' He said, ‘My name is Love.'  _ _   
_ _ Then straight the first did turn himself to me  _ _   
_ _ And cried, ‘He lieth, for his name is Shame,  _ _   
_ _ But I am Love, and I was wont to be  _ _   
_ _ Alone in this fair garden, till he came  _ _   
_ _ Unasked by night; I am true Love, I fill  _ _   
_ _ The hearts of boy and girl with mutual flame.'  _ _   
_ _ Then sighing, said the other, ‘Have thy will,  _ _   
_ __ I am the love that dare not speak its name.'

-Two Loves, Lord Alfred ‘Bosie’ Douglas, 1892

 

Magnus both loved and hated London.

It was the home of colonialism, boiled meat and ugly factories, but it also, according to the Anti-England pamphlets that had been circling back in Batavia, had a huge network of influential queers.

Of course, Magnus wasn’t there for that. He was there to somehow try and convince the English government that his people were, in fact, people, and deserved basic respect. Emphasis on the somehow.

He’d met enough Englishmen, soldiers and diplomats alike, to know that it was not going to be an easy assignment for him. The English, like all the other Europeans Magnus had met, seemed to think that they were the epitome of civilised humanity; saintly and knowledgeable and better. Magnus, personally, found most of them to be lazy, entitled and incapable of the simplest tasks. He’d yet to see an Englishman master the use of a set of chopsticks. In fact, Magnus had seen at least three of them have a minor temper tantrum when they couldn’t grasp a few measly grains of rice. How on Earth was he meant to communicate to these spoiled children that they needed to start trading with Batavians rather than their Dutch occupiers? From what Magnus had seen, they immediately discounted any face that wasn’t white.

All of this considered, it was completely reasonable that Magnus almost had a heart attack when he was met with a welcoming party after disembarking from the ferry. On the way over he’d assured himself that he’d be lucky if there was a cab waiting for him. He was struggling a little to drag his two trunks down the bridge to the dock when three round white men, their matching bald heads shining like beacons, fixed their eyes on him and started babbling in what Magnus could only assume was supposed to be Dutch. As soon as he stepped onto the dock, two of them grabbed Magnus by the elbows, and the third gestured to his servant to get Magnus’ bags.

“Oh, gentlemen,” Magnus interrupted, “I do speak English. And I can carry my own bags.”

“Oh!” All three of them looked at each other, eyebrows raised and clearly impressed. In response, Magnus pasted on the humble but firm smile that he’d been practising in the mirror every day for the entire voyage. He’d painstakingly crafted it during his time in Spain. It was non-threatening, but intellectual, showing that he knew what he was doing and that he thought of himself as capable, but recognised their authority. It was demeaning, of course, but Magnus has learned that the easiest way to a white man’s heart was to massage their ego a little.

“Well, we can make our formal introductions at the club. But for now, I’m Smith, this is Jones, and that is Bentley.” The one holding onto Magnus’ right elbow, Smith, explained.

Magnus shook his head a little as they climbed into a carriage. Smith and Jones sat on the opposite bench, and Bentley sat next to him. The servant, Magnus assumed, sat up front with the driver. “I’m very tired from the journey, I must admit. Perhaps we’d better go to lunch instead?” Wasn’t it sometime around noon? Did Englishmen truly drink all day, as the pamphlets had said?

“Nonsense, Mr Bane!” Bentley laughed. “The coffee at the club is most likely superior to anything you’ve had before; it’ll refresh you like sleep never could!”

Magnus forced himself to laugh. “I’m sure.”

“Your English is very good.” Bentley said slowly, and Magnus’ smile tightened.

“I’ve been learning English since I was three; I was fortunate enough to be home-schooled, and my tutor taught me many European languages. I assure you, I am more or less fluent.” Magnus explained, and the three aides looked at each other, not bothering to hide their surprise. “I actually went to university in Rome.”

“I didn’t know they took in orientals,” Jones said, “my younger son is insistent on going there.”

Magnus shrugged. “If you have the money to pay for tuition, and the intellect to keep up, they take anybody. I cannot recommend Sapienza highly enough; it’s a wonderful place to study.”

“Ah! I’m sure it is, Mr Bane, but nowhere could possibly beat Cambridge. And if the little blighter goes to Cambridge, at least I know I’ll be able to keep an eye on him.”

“My eldest just graduated from Cambridge, and in all honesty I was underwhelmed when I was invited to dinner there. I dare say Cambridge is a lot duller than when we were there.”

“Oh, so you’ve known each other since university?” Magnus asked, but Smith cut across him.

“Oxford has always been superior, gentlemen. Cambridge has become a pit of liberalism. There’s talk of letting women have degrees! Now, I’m all for allowing bright girls to study to pass the time, even sit examinations if they wish, but giving them degrees?! Now, that is…”

“At least Cambridge doesn’t have queers teaching.”

Silence descended on the carriage at that, and Magnus willed his cheeks not to burn. He knew that he should probably pretend not to know what it meant, but given the context, he doubted that anyone would ask what it meant either way. “So, gentlemen, is the club very far from here?”

“Oh, no, not at all. I’m sure we’re almost there. The Foreign Secretary is already there, along with some other diplomats. We’re all on friendly terms in Westminster.”

“Ah! I’m not quite… I’m not in any shape for a meeting with the Foreign Secretary.” Magnus chuckled, nervousness fluttering in his stomach. Was he not even going to get the chance to sleep before entering into negotiations?

Bentley waved dismissively. “This is not a business meeting, Mr Bane, this is purely social. I’m sure you’re excited to indulge a little in English society while you’re here; I hear oriental culture is terribly stiff.”

Magnus blinked at him. “Well, I can’t speak for the Orient, but in Batavia we know how to socialise.”

“Of course, of course. I suppose there must be a few different cultures there.”

Well, yes, Magnus wanted to say, Asia is an entire bloody continent, but he knew he had to keep his mouth shut, so just nodded politely before looking out the window. What did the Orient include, anyway? Magnus suspected it was supposed to refer to China, but he also suspected that these men didn’t even know that Batavia wasn’t in China.

“Aha! I believe we’ve arrived!” The carriage slowed to a stop, and the three other men scrambled out of the carriage, leaving Magnus to climb down last. “Where are you staying, Mr Bane? My men will take your luggage there for you.”

“I believe I’m staying at The Grosvenor.” Magnus told him, pulling his overcoat a little tighter around him and wishing that he’d gotten his gloves from his luggage before he got off the boat. He’d thought being back on dry land would be a lot warmer, but no. England was freezing.

“Excellent choice, Mr Bane.” Smith nodded, and Magnus almost assured him that the embassy had chosen it, but he thought better of it. “Shall we?” The other two men had already gone into the club, and Magnus sighed quietly to himself, allowing Smith to lead him inside.

He had no idea what kind of club this was, and Magnus didn’t think to ask as they were led inside by a waiter dressed in a pressed tuxedo. The room they were shown to was full of cigar smoke so thick that Magnus could barely see how many men were present. Mercifully, Magnus was well-used to cigar smoke so he didn’t choke, but that didn’t mean that he wasn’t squinting in a fairly unflattering manner.

“Mr Bane!” Someone loomed out of the cloud of smoke, a few inches taller than him, and… Magnus’ brain went blank for a moment. He didn’t find white men particularly attractive, as a rule, but he realised that he might just have to adjust his worldview slightly if he was going to be staying in England for a while.

The man was ridiculously, fabulously handsome. His hair was dark and thick, barely held in place by the thin layer of wax on it, threatening to spring free at any moment. His face was angular and symmetrical to a fault, his jaw square and strong, but his lips looked a little too pink to be natural, and soft, his lower lip a little too plump for his upper but still… Magnus wanted to suck on it.

Blast.

Magnus looked away to collect himself for a moment, and when he looked back, he resolutely looked into the stranger’s eyes, hoping to distract himself from the other man’s lips. That did absolutely nothing to help the diplomat’s pounding heart, because his eyes were bloody gorgeous, as well. Hazel, earnest, curious. Like he was excited to meet Magnus. Like he knew who he was.

“Hello,” Magnus forced out, after perhaps a little too long. “That’s me.”

The stranger chuckled, charmed, and held out his hand for a shake. Magnus realised as he slipped his hand into the taller man’s that he had had literally no skin-on-skin human contact for over eight months. “I’m Alexander Lightwood. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sir.”

Sir?

Magnus blinked, trying to figure out if Alexander was being sarcastic. Sir was a term of respect, wasn’t it? For someone of a higher social status.

“I, uh… Oh! Mr Foreign Secretary!” Magnus realised, all of a sudden, his mind pulling in a hundred directions at once. Wasn’t he a little young to be a politician? Had he really already developed a weakness for the man he’d been sent to educate?

Alexander laughed, wagging his finger at him. “Oh, dear Lord, no. That’s my father.”

Magnus hummed, relieved. Looking him over again, Magnus wasn’t sure how he could have possibly thought that Alexander was the Foreign Secretary. For one thing, he was wearing a light beige suit that was cut very snugly. Magnus forced his eyes back to Alexander’s. “My apologies. I’ve yet to meet your father.”

“Absolutely fine. I’m somewhat endeared by the fact that you thought I was old enough.” Alexander smiled, and it dawned on Magnus that he was not prepared for any of this. “I’m in Oxford. Second year. Actually, I’m studying politics; shocking, I know. But… Well, this is a little embarrassing…”

“Embarrassing?” Magnus repeated, utterly flummoxed as to what this beautiful, beautiful man wanted from him.

“I’m doing an essay on you. Well… Not you, personally, but how diplomacy works in the Dutch East Indies and the countries surrounding it. Almost everyone is talking about Chinese diplomacy, but… Well…” Alexander shrugged a little. “I love a challenge.”

“Oh! Well, I’m happy to answer any questions you have, of course.” Magnus nodded, “I’m staying at the Grosvenor for the next few weeks until I find a place to live.”

Alexander placed his palms together like he was praying, and pressed his fingertips to his mouth. “That would be wonderful, Mr Bane. I’d appreciate it so, so much.”

“It’s Magnus,” he insisted before he could stop himself.

“Magnus? That’s not Batavian, I’m sure,” Alexander teased, his eyes glinting with mirth.

Magnus smiled, shrugging a little. “I would hate to have to hear you Englishmen butchering my Batavian name constantly.”

“Try me,” Alexander purred, which made what little bravado Magnus had fall flat. He glanced up to see that the three aides that had arrived with him were sitting a few feet away, not paying any attention whatsoever to Magnus and Alexander.

“Perhaps some other time,” Magnus sighed. He really needed to greet the Foreign Secretary. “Thank you for introducing yourself, Alexander. It was…”

“It’s Alec. The people I like call me Alec,” he insisted. Magnus knotted his fingers together behind his back.

“Right. Alec. I don’t suppose you’d mind introducing me to your father, would you?”

Alec’s smile faltered a little. “I don’t mind, though I’ll warn you in advance he’s not overly fond of foreigners.”

“The foreign secretary isn’t fond of foreigners?” Magnus repeated, though he couldn’t summon any form of surprise.

Alec shrugged sheepishly. “Listen, I study international politics. The English are a scourge on the world. Unfortunately none of them seem to have realised it except a select few philosophy and ethics students who happen to be good friends of mine. Also, having spent time with Irishmen, you get to see the English in a different light…”

Magnus had absolutely no idea what relevance the Irish had to any of this, but he nodded politely, sensing that Alec was at least trying to seem sensitive to racial tension. That was new. “Well… Yes, I’m sure. Nevertheless, I am here to negotiate with your father, and perhaps he’ll look more kindly on me if I’m introduced by his own son.”

“Oh, yes. Yes…” Alec looked away, past Magnus, at his father. He had a vaguely grim look on his face that he was trying quite hard to hide. “Alright, let’s go.” He put his hand on Magnus’ lower back.

Magnus’ eyes widened, and a cold shiver went up the length of his spine at the younger man’s touch. He wanted to squirm away, feeling his entire body tense at the brazen display of intimacy in front of all these men…

But no-one batted an eye.

As Alec steered him through the armchairs and cigar smoke, not one man looked at them. And if they did, they nodded in familiarity at Alec, before going back to their conversations or newspapers. Magnus was flummoxed. In the cab, the aides made it sound like the English hated queers. And yet… No-one was paying any attention to an intimate, almost sexual touch from one man to another?

Perhaps a touch to the back wasn’t supposed to be intimate, here? Perhaps Alec was just trying to be friendly.

“Father,” Alec stepped around Magnus as they reached the fireplace, and the man who was apparently the Foreign Secretary. “This is Mr Magnus Bane, the diplomat from Batavia.”

Magnus forced all thoughts of Alec’s touch from his mind, and bowed a little to Mr Lightwood. “Pleasure to meet you, Mr Foreign Secretary.”

“Oh!” The Foreign Secretary looked a little like Alec; he possessed the same strong, charming features as his son, but there was something cruel in the way that he looked at Magnus. He was broader than Alec, too, probably shorter, and might have been a boxer in another life. He didn’t hold out his hand to shake. “My secretary said that you could speak English, but I didn’t expect you to be quite so… Fluent. Remarkable. Even your accent… Come. Get a drink.”

“Ah, with all due respect, Mr Foreign Secretary, I don’t drink. It’s part of my faith.”

The Foreign Secretary frowned. “Aren’t your occupiers Christian?”

Alec cleared his throat, fidgeting a little next to him. Magnus breathed out slowly through his nose. “The Dutch are, yes. But I am not Dutch, and I am not Christian. I’m Muslim.”

“Naturally, naturally,” the Foreign Secretary nodded, winding his fingers together in his lap. “I’m not sure I’ve ever met a Muslim before.”

Magnus smiled tightly.

It was going to be a long night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The moment that the bellhop closed the door to his suite that evening, Magnus threw himself on the bed and screamed into the bedding.

“I hate Europeans!” He yelled in his native tongue, the words muffled by the soft material of the pillow. He took a long moment to breathe, forcing relaxation to his shoulders. Once he felt able to sit up without ranting to himself, he went to wash his hands and face, before retrieving his prayer mat and compass from his luggage.

He felt a lot better after completing salat, and pointedly put the bitterness out of his mind. It was no good dwelling on the ignorance of the Foreign Secretary; Magnus would show him the truth of the Batavian people through kindness. He must keep love, not bitterness, in his heart as he dealt with the English diplomats. It was the only way.

The moment his head hit the pillow, Magnus fell asleep, sprawled out on the soft bed like a starfish. He couldn’t have slept for more than two hours when there was a smart knock at the door, and he jolted awake, pushing himself up onto his hands. He had to think for a moment what the English expression was for...

“Come in,” he croaked, reaching for his robe as he climbed out of bed.

The bellhop stuck his head around the door with an apologetic expression. “Apologies, Mr Bane, I didn’t know that you were sleeping.”

“It’s fine,” Magnus insisted tiredly, “I went to bed too early anyway. What is it?”

“Mr Lightwood dropped off a note for you, Mr Bane.” The bellhop put a folded piece of paper on the table. He seemed to hover for a moment like he was debating with himself whether or not to say something more.

Magnus frowned, and went over to the table where the note was. Upon opening it, he was a little less confused, because the note wasn’t from the Foreign Secretary. It was from Alec.

“January 19th, 1894. Dear Magnus, I am so terribly sorry for my father’s ignorance this evening. I wanted to tell you this in person, but I was so ashamed of the way he behaved I found myself speechless. To apologise, I’ve taken the liberty of securing us a table in the Savoy tomorrow afternoon for a spot of lunch. I feel compelled to welcome you to this city, as my father did such an awful job of it. Please come. Alec.”

“Mr Bane,” the bellhop murmured, and when Magnus looked up he was surprised to see that the boy’s cheeks were pink.

“Yes?”

“Mr Lightwood is… Well… It isn’t my place, Sir, but he’s… Eccentric. He’s close friends with all sorts. He’s very charming, and can… Bewitch you.”

Magnus’ eyebrow arched. “Bewitch you?” It wasn’t exactly hard to believe.

“Yes… Yes, Sir. A friend of mine, Sydney, he went into the pillory not six months ago after getting caught with him, Sir. Offed himself a few weeks later. A kiss from Mr Lightwood can ruin a poor man, Sir. You’re kind, Sir. You tipped well even though I called you the wrong name. I…”

“I see,” Magnus nodded, ice dropping into his stomach. “Well… I appreciate the warning. But be careful about who you trust with information like that. If you were caught speaking ill of the son of the Foreign Secretary, I have a nasty feeling you’d end up not unlike your poor friend, Sydney.”

The bellhop gulped. “Y-you won’t turn me in, Mr Bane, will you?”

“Oh, no, of course not.” Magnus insisted, patting his shoulder but then taking his hand back hastily. “No, no… Anyway. Thank you for relaying the message. Both of them.”

The bellhop bowed, and scrambled out of the room before Magnus changed his mind.

Magnus sighed, eyes looking over the message again. So Alec was queer. It wasn’t like it was a surprise; Magnus had guessed as much at the way Alec touched him, so gently, casually, like he thought nothing of putting his palm flat on the hollow of Magnus’ lower back. Only two questions mattered now.

Had Alec realised, somehow known, that Magnus was queer, too?

Did Magnus want Alec to figure it out in the first place?

There was a part of Magnus that had been excited to take this job in England because of the opportunity for this very thing; the opportunity to explore the impulses that he’d felt for as long as he could remember. The same impulses he felt for women. But for men. This was a chance. Alec was beautiful. So, so beautiful. But he was the son of the Foreign Secretary. He already had a reputation.

But then… If he already had a reputation, and hadn’t been punished… Perhaps he was untouchable? Perhaps he was safer. After all, Alec wouldn’t be in any position to blackmail Magnus, or tell anyone if they were to be… Intimate. Perhaps Alec was safer than a random man in a brothel.

Magnus shuddered. Was he really considering it?

He rubbed his thumb over the indents in the paper where Alec had pressed his pen in a little too hard.

He’d go to lunch. He’d see what happened. It wasn’t like Alec would be stupid enough to try anything in public, anyway. It would be harmless. Just getting to know him a little better. See if Magnus got along with him. It was innocent. An innocent lunch. No doubt Alec would keep his queerness subtle in public.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Alec was wearing a soft pink dinner jacket, and stuck out like a sore thumb in the sea of black woolen coats draped over delicate chairs.

Magnus pressed his lips together, glancing around the room as Alec made his way through the diners. None of them gave him a second glance. It seemed that Alec’s money allowed him to make a spectacle of himself and yet go unnoticed. Magnus envied him and was endeared by him all at once. He was so, so beautiful in his carelessness.

“Mr Bane,” Alec smiled, inclining his head a little. “Apologies. I was held up at college. Bosie and Oscar had yet another one of their lover’s tiffs, damn them, and of course I had to dry some tears.”

“It’s quite alright,” Magnus responded breathlessly, resisting the urge to pull Alec’s chair out for him. He’d already found himself standing as the younger man approached. “It’s nice that you were there for your friend. I’m sure she feels a lot better with you there for her.”

“She?” Alec repeated, taking a seat and smoothing his napkin over his lap. He laughed, and shook his head. “Goodness, no. Bosie’s a boy. A Parliament brat, like me. Though he has a Lordship, the smug little wretch.”

Magnus swallowed hard, the hairs on his forearms standing on end. He’d never heard anyone talk so openly about queer couples, like they were normal. Alec watched the shock bloomon Magnus’ face through his eyelashes, one eyebrow quirked like a challenge. “Of course,” Magnus nodded, grabbing the menu and shoving his nose into it. “So, what would you recommend?”

Alec smirked a little, and picked up his own menu. “I know the salmon is lovely.”

“The salmon,” Magnus hummed, keeping his eyes on the paper before him. “Interesting…”

“So, Magnus, do you regret taking the assignment yet?” Alec asked, waving over the waiter.

Magnus set down his menu, and made a slight grimace, making the younger man laugh. “No, no, of course not. I’m sure that once we have a few meetings, the novelty of the colour of my skin will wear off and the English government will take me seriously.”

“We can only hope,” Alec smiled, before turning his attention to the waiter. “Afternoon, Gerald. Keeping well, I see.”

“Very well, Sir,” Gerald, the waiter, answered. There was an earnest sparkle in his eye as he looked at Alec, and Magnus marvelled at it. Was absolutely everyone in London queer? Or was it just that Alec was so handsome that he turned everyone around him?

“What did you want, Magnus?” Alec asked pointedly, eyes narrowing ever so slightly. Magnus was paying altogether too much attention to the waiter, in his opinion.

“I believe you recommended the salmon. I don’t dare question your taste, Alexander.” It was said with a hint of sarcasm that made Alec laugh, tilting his head to the side. “So I think I’ll try the salmon, please.”

“And my usual order, please. Oh, and a glass of sparkling apple juice for Magnus.” Alec nodded, effectively dismissing Gerald.

Magnus made an impressed noise in the back of his throat, smoothing a napkin over his lap. “You dine here often enough to have a usual order?”

“This is Bosie’s favourite restaurant,” Alec waved it away, “Oscar picks up the check most of the time, but today it’s my turn to treat a friend.”

“So you’re close to this Bosie, then?” Magnus asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

“Oh, yes. We’ve known each other since we were children. Our fathers are sworn enemies, so naturally with the both of us being the contrary little wretches that we are, we struck up a friendship. Anything to annoy our stuffy fathers, after all. I’m sure you know how it is.”

Magnus laughed, but shook his head. “Actually, I never knew my father. He died when I was very young. Killed, actually…” He murmured, looking down at the linen napkin on his thighs.

“Oh, I’m ever so sorry, Magnus.” Alec reached across the table, pressing his fingers into the surface of the table just behind Magnus’ plate. “I can be so bloody insensitive sometimes.”

“It’s fine,” Magnus shrugged, “as I said, I never knew him. I was raised by my stepfather, who…” he hesitated, unsure if he should open up so quickly, especially over a lunch, of all things.

“Go on,” Alec encouraged.

Magnus sighed. “It was my stepfather that killed my real father. He was a Dutchman. He saw my mother and wanted her, so… He killed her husband and took her for himself.” He didn’t look at Alec, straightening his cutlery. “I didn’t know until after my mother died, a few years ago.”

“That’s awful, Magnus. It’s… Well, despicable, is what it is.”

“My Aunt told me. My stepfather was trying to argue to the authorities that I wasn’t his financial responsibility. I was seventeen, and… Well, I’m not proud of it, but I threatened to expose him if he didn’t pay for my university tuition. Of course, in retaliation he sent me as far away as possible, not that I particularly minded.”

Alec grinned. “Good for you.”

Magnus looked up, and upon seeing the approval on Alec’s face, he relaxed a little. “So you could say my relationship with my father is a little worse than yours.”

“I’d be inclined to agree,” Alec conceded. He looked quite intently at Magnus for a long moment, finding himself unable to look away. The older man seemed just as enraptured, and the moment stretched for several tantalising seconds.

The waiter broke the spell by clearing his throat as he reached the table, and Magnus felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end, feeling cold after the loss of Alec’s heated gaze on his. Heated not with lust, exactly, but the glowing embers of affection, perhaps. Either way, Magnus felt colder without it. Alec found himself taking a few deep breaths to calm his thundering heart, a little flustered at the openness with which Magnus looked at him. He was accustomed to games, to flirtation and innuendo, of feelings pushed down and allowed to blossom only in a silent cry of completion, tucked in a dark shameful corner somewhere. He wasn’t sure that he’d encountered a man who carried such emotion in his eyes.

He could envision himself becoming quite addicted to the ways that Magnus’ eyes shone.

“I’m presuming you wanted to make a toast,” Magnus prodded, looking between Alec’s champagne and his own sparkling apple juice.

“Yes!” Alec snapped himself out of his reverie, raising his glass. “To new friends, and half-built bridges.”

Magnus lifted his apple juice, smiling. “Half-built? I barely have the foundations yet.”

“The fact that you forced my father to acknowledge you as a human being is half the battle won, trust me.” Alec insisted.

“If you say so,” Magnus sighed. “You know him better than I do.”

They fell into comfortable silence once more, their eyes meeting. The urge to quip, to distance himself, rose insistent like anxiety in Alec’s chest, but he swallowed it down and hoped that his curiosity and attraction to the older man was evident. Magnus was the first to drop his eyes, glancing around the bustling restaurant.

“Are you married, Magnus?” Alec asked.

“Uh, no.” Magnus chuckled. “What kind of husband would I be, leaving my poor wife at home all alone? No, no, I… Have yet to get around to it, I suppose.”

“So you want to get married, someday?”

“Well…” Magnus answered, “doesn’t everyone?”

Alec shrugged. “It never appealed to me. All my married friends are downright miserable. Women are lovely, of course, don’t get me wrong. I’m just not sure I’d ever want to be in love with one. And children…” Alec physically shuddered, which made Magnus laugh. “They’re just awful.”

“English children are, perhaps,” Magnus’ eyes were alight with humour, and Alec couldn’t look away. “But I was perfectly well-behaved as a boy.”

“I believe that,” Alec nodded. “I bet you never got caned.”

“Once,” Magnus admitted, “for pointing out a mistake that my mathematics tutor made in an equation.”

Alec beamed. “Naturally. Meanwhile I once got 30 strikes for punching a boy in the nose.”

“I’m sure he deserved it,” Magnus leaned forward a little.

“Of course he did! He called me a queer, so I broke his nose.”

Magnus snorted. “I’m starting to think that queer is the worst insult in the English language.”

“Oh, of course not. It made me hideously angry because he’d propositioned me, and I refused.” Alec leaned in to whisper, “I wasn’t about to gift one of my world-renowned suck-jobs on someone who had no concept of personal hygiene.”

Magnus’ eyes bugged out of his head, leaning back. Alec just shrugged.

“Anyway, he tried to force me so I punched him. Boxed him right in his arrogant, squashed face. It was worth every second of the punishment.”

Magnus’ brain, honestly, was still stuck on ‘world-renowned suck-jobs’, and it took him a moment to catch up with what Alec had actually said. He wasn’t quite sure what the appropriate response was, but doubt, and perhaps a hint of fear, was growing on Alec’s face, so he arranged his expression into a non-committal smile and nodded. “Good for you.”

“Does it make you uncomfortable, me talking about it?” Alec asked, running his fingers back and forth along the hard line of his own jaw.

“Yes and no,” Magnus admitted, glancing around before leaning forward. “Anyone could hear us.”

Alec looked like he was resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “Can you hear the conversations of anyone else?”

“Well... “ Magnus paused for a moment. There was a hum of conversation on all sides, and he had to admit, “I don’t hear anything specific. But it’s dangerous, Alexander.”

“That’s part of the fun, isn’t it?”

“Not for me…” Magnus sighed, hitching his napkin further up his lap. “Could we please discuss something altogether more... Wholesome?”

Alec bit his lip. “Of course, Magnus. Apologies if I offended you.”

“I’m not offended, Alec, I’m… Wary.” Magnus explained, licking his lips. “But tell me, why have you chosen to write on the Dutch East Indies? I can’t imagine there are many books on it in English.”

“Zero,” Alec sighed, “well, zero that aren’t pro-British propaganda. Luckily I have a Dutch friend, so he’s helping find some good sources. Of course, I say good, but no doubt they’ll all be pro-Dutch propaganda, so… That’s why I was so excited to talk to you.”

“What do you want to know?” Magnus asked, leaning back in his chair a little. He could talk about this. This was safe. He knew about this.

“A prime steak for Mr Lightwood…” Gerald appeared more or less out of nowhere, brandishing two plates over his head. The first he slipped in front of Alec, before placing the other down in front of Magnus. “And a salmon for his friend.”

“Thank you very much,” Magnus nodded, reaching for his knife.

With a nod from Alec, Gerald wandered off towards the kitchen once more. Alec rummaged in the inside pocket of his jacket, pulling out a small notebook. “You don’t mind if I take notes, do you?”

“Of course not; I wouldn’t want you to misquote me.” Magnus teased, turning his attention to his food.

Alec hummed, trying to think of a place to start. “How much are native Batavians involved in international relations? Before you, I was under the impression that the Dutch made every decision that mattered. But they sent you to figure out a trade deal. Does that happen often, or are you just that good?”

Magnus smiled, waiting for a moment until he’d swallowed his food. “I wasn’t sent by the Dutch authorities, Alec, I was sent by the Batavian leaders. We’re slowly getting more say in the way our people are treated; the Dutch feel comfortable in their colonisation of us so we’re allowed a little more freedom. Of course,” Magnus sighed, shaking his head a little, “whatever deal I manage to strike, the Dutch will make most of the profit, but I’m hopeful that the English government will insist on dealing with Batavians directly if we promise them cheaper goods.”

“Won’t that make the Dutch angry with you?”

Magnus shrugged. “Most likely. But it must be done.”

“Wow,” Alec murmured, falling quiet for a moment. “There’s a lot of responsibility, a lot of pressure, on your shoulders.”

“Quite,” Magnus laughed nervously, taking a sip of his sparkling apple juice.

“So how about you relationship with Japan?” Alec asked as he cut up his steak.

“Goodness me, don’t get me started on the Japanese…”


	2. 'His Name is Shame.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This second chapter is mostly very fluffy. Magnus and Alec start writing letters to each other, and they're super cheesy and ridiculous, but this is the 1890s; cheesy didn't exist yet. I've read a LOT of love letters between queer men from this time (literally around 1,200 pages of them) and I've tried to keep the tone similar. Also, it's so difficult to write letter-type things without 'lmao's and emojis to indicate that you're joking and not just being a prick OOP.
> 
> Anyway, trigger warnings for this chapter: 
> 
> Internalised Homophobia: There's a lot of this in this chapter, even from Alec. Both Alec and Magnus refer to their feelings for each other as a sin, but one they're both willing to commit. Magnus refers to Alec in their letters as 'his guide in wickedness', which is mostly teasing but there is that note of internalised homophobia.
> 
> There are references to 'Uranians', or 'Uranian poets' in this chapter, and this continues on into the rest of the fic, I think. 'Uranian' was basically a codeword for gay, bisexual or pansexual men at this time, particularly the Wilde circle, who were almost all poets. Alec is a member of this circle in this universe, he's surrounded by queer men so he's a little more confident in his identity than Magnus.

A few days later, on a Saturday, Alec and Magnus met again, this time in Oxford. Alec had asked Magnus for help in searching for reliable books on East Asia at the Bodleian Library. Magnus had been meaning to visit it since he found out that he’d be moving to England; it was one of the oldest, biggest libraries in the world, and Magnus had always had an affinity for books. The journey to Oxford hadn’t been as long as Magnus expected; less than three hours after he left the Grosvenor, he was hopping down from the train. 

“Magnus!” He whirled around to see Alec waiting for him on the platform, wearing no jacket but a lovely fitted red and gold waistcoat. On his head was a ratty flat cap, and it made Magnus laugh as he walked over to see a man who was evidently Alec’s driver, looking embarrassed to be wearing a fancy black top hat. “Where to, Mister?” Alec asked in an awful, awful approximation of a cockney accent.

“As far away from you as possible,” Magnus snorted, snatching the hat from his head and offering it back to the driver.

“Thank you kindly, Sir,” he said, bowing his head, holding Alec’s hat back out to him. Magnus placed Alec’s hat back on his head where it belonged. 

“Oh, come on, it was just a spot of fun. I’d make a charming driver.” Alec insisted as the driver started to lead the way to the cab. 

Magnus smirked. “I have no doubt that you’d get both of us thoroughly lost, and I do intend to make it to the Bodleian before noon.”

“Don’t you want to get lost with me, Magnus?” Alec murmured as Magnus climbed up into the cab, eyes glittering with promise. 

“Uhhh…” 

Alec laughed, taking off his hat and putting it on his knees. “I’m just teasing you, Magnus, do try not to blush.”

“I’m not blushing,” Magnus gulped, turning his face away to touch his cheeks with his fingertips. Sure enough, they were hot. “I have no idea where you get this audacity…”

“Comes from having nothing to lose,” Alec explained, tilting his head to the side. “And everything to gain.”

Magnus sighed. “What…” He stopped for a moment, trying to think of a way he could phrase it without incriminating himself. “What makes you think I’m interested in you?” 

Perhaps that made Alec question himself for a moment, because his fingers nervously started to turn the hat round and round in his lap. Alec’s eyebrows furrowed, and he opened and closed his mouth a few times. “Are you not?”

“Answer the question, if you please,” Magnus insisted, keeping his fingers knotted together on his own knees. 

“I-I… I’m not quite sure anyone’s ever… Not wanted me.” Alec answered, and when their eyes met, Magnus could see a fear there that he’d not seen any trace of in the younger man, before. 

Magnus smiled. “That’s quite the ego you have there, Alexander.” 

Narrowing his eyes, Alec sensed that Magnus was toying with him, and put his hat on the seat between the two of them. “I never said I was humble.” 

“No, you didn’t,” Magnus agreed, his eyes fixed on Alec’s hand where it curled around the top of the hat. Physically, it would be so easy to reach out and take it, tangle their fingers together as he’d done with countless young ladies in his youth. 

But what then?

“If you despise my ego so much, why did you accept my invitation here?” Alec asked, watching Magnus’ internal battle with more than a little anxiety. 

Magnus sucked his lower lip between his teeth for a moment. “I don’t know,” he answered, “I trust you. I don’t know why… But I do.”

“Trust makes you do strange things,” Alec agreed, voice musing. “Must be something in the air.” 

“Bodleian Library!” The driver bellowed as they jerked to a stop, and Alec huffed, glaring darkly out of the window as if he resented the rest of the world for merely existing. 

Magnus hopped hurriedly down from the cab, straightening his jacket and clearing his throat. His cheeks, he was sure, were still burning pink. Goodness knows what that driver must have thought…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Over the next few weeks, Magnus and Alec fell into a rhythm. They would meet in Oxford every Saturday afternoon, and Magnus would assist Alec in his research in exchange for Alec’s insight into dealing with his father and other members of the English diplomatic team. On more than one occasion, Magnus stayed with Alec so late, the two of them talking, that Magnus was forced to get a room at a hotel a few streets away from Alec’s college. 

Magnus felt himself falling, and he was powerless to stop it.

At the beginning of February, Magnus hit a breakthrough in negotiations, and had to stay in London over the weekend in order to work. Alec, never one to be snubbed, had insisted on writing to Magnus instead, as he couldn’t get away from Oxford, either.

And that was the beginning of the end for Magnus’ resolve not to get involved with Alexander Lightwood.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

12th February 1894

Dear Magnus,

On our last meeting, I sensed that you were concealing some unspoken sentiment from me. Whether that sentiment was a flat rejection or a declaration of love, I cannot say. The question of your heart haunts me, Magnus. Please answer it for me, for I fear I shall go mad should I have to lie awake for one night more reflecting on the nature of you.

Before I even laid eyes on you, I felt an inexplicable pull. Upon reading my father’s letter, that thoughtlessly mentioned that a diplomat from Batavia with the name of Bane would be arriving in a few weeks’ time, I felt my soul stir. I know now that mine was rousing from sleep, anticipating the meeting of its mate. As I sit here writing all this, I am disturbed by the possibility that you are reading the opening of my heart with disgust, that you’ve tossed it in the fire before even getting this far, but I cannot hold my tongue any longer. 

Magnus, I’ve sinned. I’ve sinned in your faith and mine, and probably in every faith ever conceived of. But when I look at you it feels not like sin, but redemption.

Please, Magnus Bane, redeem me with your affection.

With all my love,

Alexander G. Lightwood

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

16th February 1894

Dear Alexander,

I’m afraid that my language here is not as poetic as yours, but I have agonised over your letter for two days now and I cannot in good conscience prolong your suffering any longer.

I feel it, Alexander. From the first look you gifted me, you’ve possessed me in ways I’m sure no-one ever has before. It terrifies me, for I have barely learned how to love a woman, and now in my heart is planted the seed of love for a man. I know not how to tend it.

If I am your redeemer, then let you be my guide. I am lost, in translation, in emotion, in anxiety, in love. I don’t know how to begin in loving you. I know only that I don’t want it to end. You may feel redeemed from sin, but my sin is only beginning. It scares me, Alexander, this dark world, but it, you, thrill me. If I could only touch your palm to mine as you remove this blindfold of naivety, I think that sin would turn to bliss.

Please come to me soon, my guide in wickedness. 

Your Redeemer

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

22nd February 1894

To my Redeemer,

I’ve become the subject of much ribbing here in college; Bosie says I’ve gone soft and that the only possible explanation for my sudden interest in monogamy is that you must have cast some kind of spell on me. Little shit. The point is, ever since I’ve returned I’ve barely gone two moments without remembering your touch. I’m moved by it even now. I wish that it was summer break, then I’d be up there in London, by your side, and I could wake up in your arms every morning. Waking to the sight of your beautiful golden face was the single happiest moment of my life. My heart is turned more and more to stone with every passing dawn I greet alone, without you snoring so tunefully next to me.

My fingertips ache to touch the softness of your palm, feel the thrum of your pulse under your skin. Perhaps, had I met you earlier, I’d have been a philosopher or a poet rather than a politician, because with Magnus-tinted glasses, this world is a wonderful and confusing place. My sweet Magnus, it’s been but two days since I laid eyes on you, but my heart is strained so. I fear it may burst if I don’t see you soon. Pray, send a photograph of yourself? I enclose one of my own on the assumption that you miss me as I miss you. 

And now, I must admit something more than a little humiliating. Surrounded as I am by Uranian poets, I was inspired to attempt to capture our opening night together in verse. However, upon reading it Bosie actually blushed - Bosie! Blushing! Apparently I do not possess the gift of innuendo. It’s altogether too embarrassing to send here, but perhaps if you charm me with that soft sparkle in your eye and your soothing words, I’ll be persuaded to share it with you when you come down to visit me.

Additionally, I have a surprise for you. I’ve managed to discover that there is in fact a mosque not thirty miles outside of London. There’s a Muslim prince studying here alongside me, and I managed to procure from him a flier for it with the details, which I enclose also. I know you must feel lonely there in London, surrounded by awful ignorance on all sides. This place of worship, I earnestly hope, will grant you a sense of community. It’s a gift that I’ve been granted here at Oxford in my fellow Uranians, and this gift lifted my spirits tremendously. I pray that your spirits aren’t too low. You’re on an incredible but challenging mission. You are making a difference, I know it. No-one could listen to your eloquence and kindness and not be moved, not be inclined to believe in you and your vision for Batavia. I believe in you, Magnus. My soul stands with yours even as our bodies remain apart.

I love you, my Redeemer.

Your Guide in Wickedness 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

27th February 1894

To my Guide,

Goodness, I miss you. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for the information about the mosque. You are a blessing. I cannot begin to explain how much the gesture means to me. It is beyond me, how you knew that I was feeling sullen when I tried so hard to hide it from you. The truth is, you already know it, of course, but the truth is I sorely miss home, and my own people. I have not seen a single face that was neither white nor a servant since the moment I stepped from the boat, and it has been a true test of my resolve. Your sweet words give me strength, Alec, and I appreciate them so much. 

As for your poetry, I’m sure I have no idea why you’d make poor Bosie blush so! You truly are incorrigible, and yet you have the face of an angel. It’s all terribly confusing, I hope you realise that. And for your amusement, Sir, my snores are anything but tuneful and you know it. You’re merely attempting to flatter me, so you’re granted a repeat performance of our opening night. I see through you, Alexander Lightwood! And yet, I find myself charmed by your pretty words. I resolve to find some integrity before we next meet.

Just the thought of the boyish, mischievous grin you no doubt wore as you wrote your last letter both warms my heart and irritates me awfully. You play my manner, my body, my soul like a finely tuned violin, and every time without fail I willingly, earnestly, sing for you. Oh, I love you. I enclose a photograph, as you requested. It is a strange sensation, having your photograph taken, and one I had not experienced until now. We are more inclined to paintings at home, and this was an altogether easier process, I must say. This was the second attempt; the first was a little ‘out of focus’, as the photographer put it, because my blasted nose was itching and I couldn’t resist scratching it. As you well know, I am not too skilled at resisting temptation.

It is the one bad quality of mine that I’m fairly fond of, actually.

With love,

Your Redeemer.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

1st March 1894

My lovely Redeemer,

The object of my compliments is not to titillate you, my love, but to make you smile. My intentions are pure and innocent! On a side note, I assure you, if I wished to make you desire me, I’d do it much more efficiently. I can see the blush you wear at this moment in my mind’s eye, and I must admit right now I do have that ‘boyish, mischievous grin’ you spoke of before.

But enough of that, Magnus, for I am positively furious with you! How could you have been gifted such a beautiful photograph of your beloved darling Alexander and not praise his angelic countenance for pages and pages, until your very pen ran dry of ink? I am pouting, well and truly, and have been ever since I read your lusty letter for the first time yesterday. You are fortunate that I am not quite so bratty as my peers here, because they would have me drive up to London this very instant and make a scene in front of all! As it is, I am only a moderate brat, and therefore will forgive you in around three to five days, with only minimum grovelling needed.

In the meantime, I will hold this charming picture you sent me and touch my fingers to the pale imitation of your face. I am unimpressed at the photographer’s inability to capture the beauty of your laugh, but you look imposing and sophisticated, and it sends a delicious shiver down my spine every time I look at it. I’ve been carrying it with me everywhere, and even limp old Reggie Turner said that you were one of the most handsome men he’d ever laid eyes on. And Reggie’s not one to compliment anyone except Oscar. Not even me! I’m perfectly insulted.

The good news is that my mood will be lifting rather soon, for I’ve completed my next essay early, thanks to your insightful words at lunch all those weeks ago. As a result, I have a week free before the next is assigned, which means I can come up to see you! All in the name of research for my dissertation, of course! I know you won’t be free to amuse me the entire week, but I’ll be content with only going to sleep next to you. I did promise Oscar that I’d call on him, as well, so I’m sure I’ll find some way to amuse myself. I’m planning to come up on Saturday afternoon, and stay until Sunday the 16th. I do hope eight days isn’t long enough for you to get truly sick of me, Magnus; I’ll try my very best not to be ‘incorrigible’. I do regret teaching you the meaning of that one.

I love you!

Your Guide to Wickedness 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

4th March 1894

To my Guide,

Thank goodness that your brattiness is only moderate! Of course, I’ll get to the grovelling right away. 

I don’t know what on Earth I was thinking, neglecting to wax lyrical about my lover’s beauty for pages and pages. I am truly, truly ashamed of myself. The truth is, your picture is currently propped up against the lamp before me, and it has been watching over me from the moment I received it. It’s a beautiful photograph, perhaps even perfect. You look poised, which is quite the achievement, as I know your lovely long legs often lead you into trips and stumbles when we walk together in person. Your lack of surefootedness is one of my very favourite things about you, Alexander, but I am also charmed by the elegance in your expression here. 

You are so beautiful. I don’t have the words to describe how my heart throbs just to look at you. If only I could write this letter in my native tongue, and you could understand my sentiment. As it is, I feel a welling of frustration deep in my soul that I cannot express myself as wonderfully as you have. I love you, Alec.

I find myself restless for your visit; I’ve missed your hand in mine. A week with you sounds blissful. Perhaps on this visit we’ll be able to drag ourselves from the bedroom and you can introduce me to Oscar and Bosie; I’m so looking forward to meeting them. I’ve been reading ‘The Picture of Dorian Gray’, and I have a lot of questions to ask Mr Wilde. I hope he doesn’t mind.

Oh! More news! I went to the mosque you pointed out, and it was wonderful. I was moved to tears hearing my prayers mingle with the crowd of worshippers once more. It’s been so long. Thank you, Alexander, from the bottom of my heart, for that gift. I’ve been back twice since. I thought that I’d be ashamed to set foot there, after the things I’ve indulged in since I last entered a mosque, but I felt as at peace as I always have. I don’t feel wrath or judgement from Allah; I feel his love as strongly as I did the first day I knelt to pray. Perhaps He saw this seed of love in my soul from the moment I was born, and loves and cares for me in spite of it. Perhaps He knows that I was meant to love you.

I have never been so happy.

With unending love,

Your Redeemer.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“What scares you, Magnus?” Alec asked, voice hushed. 

Magnus hummed, pulling back from where his face was pressed into Alec’s chest to turn onto his side. “A lot of things make me nervous or anxious, but there are only two things that scare me. Hell, and failure.”

“Wow…” Alec smiled slightly, his fingers brushing an errant eyelash from Magnus’ cheek. “They’re understandable fears. And there’s me, my biggest fear being snakes.”

“Do you even have snakes in England?” Magnus chuckled, affection sparkling in the dark of his eyes.

Alec looked sheepish. “Well, we have grass snakes.”

Magnus laughed, thumb brushing along the sharp bone of Alec’s hip. “If snakes from across the sea are all you have to worry about, angel, then I think you must live a pleasant life.”

“I’m fortunate,” Alec admitted, shifting closer to bury his face in Magnus’ neck. “I have everything I’ve ever wanted. There’s just one thing…”

“And what’s that?”

Alec hesitated, pressing his nose into the older man’s jaw a little too hard, making Magnus chuckle quietly, carding his fingers through Alec’s hair. “One day you’re going to go home and leave me.”

Magnus sighed. “Yes, angel. One day.” There was no point in denying it; someday Alec and Magnus would be separated by half a planet. There was nothing either of them could do to prevent it. “But there’s no sense in wasting the time we do have together in dwelling on it, is there?” 

“But…” Alec shifted to look at him, clutching onto Magnus’ broad shoulders. “I want to be with you forever.” 

Magnus kissed the younger man’s forehead. “I know. I want to be with you, as well.” 

Alec sniffed, cupping Magnus’ face and pulling him down for a soft kiss. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Alexander.” 

“No, but…” Alec looked at him more seriously than Magnus had ever seen him. “I truly, truly love you, Magnus. This isn’t just about sex, or making my father angry, or anything of that sort. I love you, with my whole heart.” 

Magnus smiled, laughing a little. “I know, angel. I know you do. And I love you too, just the same.” 

Alec arched, kissing Magnus once more, eyebrows furrowing with all the feeling he pushed into it. Magnus sighed into the kiss, his hand smoothing up and down Alec’s back slowly. He’d never felt so at peace, so close to another person. He’d known Alec just over three months, and they’d only spent about a month of that time in each others’ presence, but he knew that Alec was the love of his life. He could feel it in his bones. And he was fairly certain that Alec felt the same way. 

“Magnus…” Alec purred, fingernails digging into his shoulder blades, relishing in the hard muscles he found there. “I know that I just said that this isn’t about sex, but…”

Magus laughed. “You’re insatiable.”

Alec squirmed, sucking his lower lip between his teeth. “Perhaps you should try not being irresistable.”

“I’ll work on it,” Magnus grinned, turning over to hover over the younger man. 

“Mister Bane?” 

At the sound of a strange voice at the door, Magnus leapt off Alec like he’d been burned, stumbling across the room to grab his robe, almost blind with panic. “Hide in the wardrobe!” He hissed at Alec.

“They’re not going to come in, Mag-”

“Shush!” Magnus whisper-yelled, tying his robe tightly around his waist as he headed to the door. “Do as you’re told!” 

Alec rolled his eyes, pulling himself out of bed and striding, shamelessly naked, across to the wardrobe, his clothes in his arms. He glared at Magnus’ back as he shut himself inside, feeling ridiculous.

“Good morning. What can I do for you?” Magnus asked once he’d opened the door, hoping that he didn’t look as terrified as he felt. 

The waiter seemed non-plussed, and smiled at him. “Just bringing up your breakfast, Sir. Continental for two?”

“For two?” Magnus laughed, cursing his cheeks as he felt them heat, “you must have the wrong room; I didn’t order breakfast, and it’s just me.” 

“Oh!” The waiter frowned, looking up at the room number. “No, Sir, this is the correct room. I believe that this breakfast was ordered from outside the hotel. Perhaps it is a gift?”

Magnus’ blood ran cold. He couldn’t say a word, just nodded and stepped aside for the waiter to come in. 

Someone knew that Alec was here. Someone knew that they were sleeping together.

Someone wanted Magnus to know that they knew. 

The waiter didn’t seem to be phased by the fact that both sides of the bed had clearly been slept in, and Magnus prayed that the man assumed that Magnus had indulged in a prostitute last night. He’d much rather that kind of rumour. Once the breakfast had been set up on the table, the waiter gave Magnus a small bow and showed himself out. Magnus sat on the edge of the bed, bringing his shaking hands up to his face.

“It was sweet of you to order breakfast, Magnus.” Alec popped his head out of the wardrobe, eyes alight with affection, and Magnus looked away from him, nausea churning in the pit of his stomach.

“I didn’t,” he replied flatly, “someone from outside of the hotel did.” 

Alec hummed, emerging from the wardrobe almost fully dressed. “That’s strange.”

“Strange?” Magnus echoed, licking his lips. “Alec, someone knows about us.”

“Well, yes. It’s not like it’s the best kept secret in the land, is it?” Alec laughed nervously, taking a seat at the table. 

Magnus looked up at him, eyebrows furrowed. “What does that mean?”

“Well… Everyone in Oxford knows I’m acquainted with a clever diplomat from Batavia. No-one cares. It’s not as if I’m the only man who’s in an intimate relationship with another man.” 

“Alexander… Have you told people that we’re sleeping together?” Magnus asked evenly, pressing his fingertips to his mouth.

Alec sucked on his lower lip. “No-one that would cause any trouble. Only my friends.”

“Your friends? All the gossiping queers in Oxford? Who have parents and acquaintances in Parliament, in the Foreign Office, the people who would use any excuse to have me deported or imprisoned? Those friends?” 

“Magnus, let’s not be melodramatic, it’s only breakfast…” Alec sighed.

“Melodramatic?!” Magnus repeated, standing up from the bed. “I have an entire country’s future sitting on my shoulders, and you’re putting all that in jeopardy just for, what? Bragging rights? To fit in with your Uranian friends?!” 

Alec glowered at the older man. “All I did was talk to my friends about the man that I’m in love with. Is that a crime?”

“Sleeping with said man is!” Magnus pointed out, pacing back and forth. “Do you know how dangerous this relationship is, for both of us? We have to be careful!”

“We’re not doing anything wrong, Magnus!”

Magnus groaned, scrubbing his hands down his face. “It doesn’t matter what our opinions are about it, Alexander, the laws of this land are very clear. Honestly, I don’t know what I’ve been thinking…”

“What do you mean by that?” Alec demanded, face stricken. “Don’t say that…”

“Say what? That I’ve been an absolute fool thinking that I could carry out my mission while carrying on with the Foreign Secretary’s son?! I can’t have both, Alexander, we can’t have both.”

“Yes we can!” Alec got up and rushed over to Magnus, hand curling around the Magnus’ wrist. “Please, don’t say that. You just said you loved me.”

“And I do,” Magnus swallowed hard, closing his eyes. “But I have to make difficult decisions, as the representative of my people, to ensure their survival.”

“You can do both!”

“No, I can’t.” Magnus whispered, biting his lip to keep it from wobbling. “I have to choose. I can’t have you and retain my position here, someone is going to use this against me, against both of us. This breakfast was obviously sent as a warning.”

Alec sniffed, tears springing to his eyes. Magnus couldn’t bear to look at him, his eyes on the table behind Alec. “No, we can figure it out, we can…”

“I think you should go, Alec,” Magnus said quietly, extricating his wrist from Alec’s grasp. 

“Magnus, please don’t do this,” Alec begged.

“Please leave, Mr Lightwood,” Magnus insisted, hating how his voice wavered. 

Alec dropped his head, slipping his feet into his shoes. He opened his mouth to say something to make Magnus change his mind, to make him realise that they could make it work, but he knew that there was nothing that could take back the last fifteen minutes. Magnus had convinced himself that this was what he had to do, for the good of his people.

Alec had to respect that.

It didn’t stop him from sniffling into his sleeve as the door to Magnus’ suite snapped shut behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELL... The angst begins! 
> 
> Magnus and Alec both have things to work on in themselves before they can truly understand each other, and the next chapter deals almost exclusively with the situations that force the two of them to grow.


	3. ‘I Was Wont to be Alone in This Fair Garden’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is all about Magnus and Alec doing some soul-searching and growing seperately. Don't worry, there'll be a happy ending! It was super weird for me to write Alec in love with someone that wasn't Magnus, it made me so uncomfortable! They truly are soulmates. 
> 
> Trigger warnings for this chapter: 
> 
> Period-typical homophobia: Alec and Magnus are both in London and react to Oscar Wilde being arrested and charged with 'gross indecency'. This was a real life event that tore the queer community at the time to pieces. It's been said by historians that Wilde's trial put the queer community back 50 years, and I believe them. All accounts from queer men and women at the time indicate shock and utter heartbreak at the news of Wilde's arrest. It ruined everything they'd begun to build. I felt that it was important to see that in this story. Additionally, when Alec sees his father after Wilde's arrest, he calls him a 'demon' and bans him from the family home. This scene could be upsetting to queer readers who've gone through similar situations, so careful as you go!
> 
> Homophobic violence: Simon's father punches him because he's living with Alec, but we don't see it happen, we just see Simon with a black eye.
> 
> Character death: Alec's father dies in this chapter. You don't see him die, but Maryse briefly describes him dying, and Alec sits next to his dead body and muses over it.
> 
> Internalised/period-typical racism: Magnus assumes that Dot rejects his proposal because he's Asian, which is not the case.
> 
> Possessive behaviour: There's a note of possessive behaviour from Simon. Nothing too extreme, but I got a little weird feeling from it so I thought I'd better tag it.

Alec would always remember where he was when they took Oscar away on April the 6th, 1895. 

He’d been putting the finishing touches to his dissertation before it was to be sent off to his tutor. It was his fourth time rewriting the whole damned thing, and his patience was running thin, his mind unable to resist critiquing almost every point as he wrote it down. One of the servants of the college knocked urgently at the door of his dormitory, and he pushed himself away from his desk to answer it, cracking his back as he went. 

“Sir, there’s an urgent call for you from Lord Alfred Douglas. He begs that you take it immediately.” 

Alec frowned. Bosie hadn’t been in touch for weeks; he and Oscar had been preoccupied with the libel trial…

Alec gasped, and shoved past the servant, sprinting across campus to the telephone.

“Bosie? What’s happened?” Alec panted, eyes wild with panic.

“They’ve arrested him,” Bosie breathed, sounding dazed. “They just… Took him.”

Alec sagged against the wall, dizziness rushing into his vision. “What were the charges?”

“Gross indecency,” Bosie answered. “What… What are we going to do? Wh-” Alec’s heart broke as he heard his friend sob.

“Bosie, it’s going to be alright, sweetheart, you know it will.” Alec soothed, though he didn’t believe it. If the police had finally snapped, if they’d finally arrested the most famous queer in London…

He could be next. 

“My bastard father is insisting that I go abroad,” Bosie sniffed, “but I can’t, Alec, I can’t abandon Oscar, not now…”

“It’s only a matter of time before they arrest you, Bosie, you have to go.” Alec insisted, “though you know it pains me to agree with anything your cunt of a father says.” 

Bosie sniffled, and Alec pressed his forehead against the wall, feeling his own eyes well up. “He’s in prison. All alone. You know Oscar will simply die without an audience.” Bosie whispered, and Alec clenched his free hand into a fist.

“It’ll…” He cleared his throat. “It’ll be alright. If anyone has the strength of spirit to survive this, it’s Oscar. Bosie, what we’ll do, we’ll go and visit Oscar in the morning, and then we’ll go to France. I’ll come with you.”

“You should go tonight, Alec, it’s not safe in England anymore.” 

Alec swallowed hard. “I’m not leaving you and the others behind. Fuck that.”

Bosie sighed. “Alright. As long as you’re sure. We’ll go tomorrow.”

With a few more words of comfort, Alec hung up. He ran his hands through his hair, sliding down the wall to sit on the floor. He had to warn everyone. He had to find every queer in Oxford and warn them that the police were coming for them. He had to save as many people as he could. 

He found he couldn’t move. 

For the first time in his life, Alec prayed, pressing his hands to his face, tears dampening his palms. 

“Please,” he breathed, “please let us survive this.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Magnus was walking to the docks from the train station when he heard a newspaper vendor shout something about Oscar Wilde. Magnus took a copy of the Evening Standard, and unfolded it right then and there; this was too important to wait. The libel trial had been scheduled to end today.

WILDE ARRESTED FOR GROSS INDECENCY

He stopped in his tracks, causing a man behind him to almost trip. 

As his eyes scanned the paper desperately, he prayed that Alec hadn’t been caught up in the crossfire, and let out a shaky, relieved breath as he realised that his name was nowhere to be seen in the article. There was no doubt that if the son of the Foreign Secretary had been implicated, the paper would have been all over it.

Alec was safe, at least for now.

Magnus’ eyes fluttered in relief, and he continued on to the docks. Part of him wanted to call the University, make sure that Alec was fleeing, not trying to stick his nose in. Heaven knew that it wasn’t in his nature to stay in the shadows where it was safe, but Magnus hoped that this scared him enough to make him careful. He checked his pocket watch, and sighed. He didn’t have time to find a telephone and make it to the boat on time.

He’d finally been called back to Batavia; his mission had been a moderate success. Despite the fact that Britain was going to continue to trade weapons with the Dutch, Britain had agreed to purchase coffee directly from Batavians, which meant that his people would soon be around three times as affluent as they had been up until now.

It was a start. They still had no way to defend themselves against the Dutch, but independent income was the first step.

As it happened, Magnus ended up being a little early to catch the boat, so he took a seat on a bench nearby. His mind drifted once more to Alec, and his heart ached to hear his voice once more, before he left forever. It took a long few moments for Magnus to realise that his eyes had grown misty at the thought of never seeing Alec again, and before he could talk himself out of it, he was on his feet, looking for a telephone box.

Luckily, there was one on the dock, and Magnus dug in his pocket to look for some pennies as he hurried over to it. He still remembered the number for Alec’s college, and dialled it as the butterflies rose in his stomach. 

“St John’s College, Oxford? How may I help?” 

“I’d like to speak to Alexander Lightwood, if you please,” Magnus said, his throat feeling a little thick just to say his name. 

“I’m afraid Mr Lightwood left the college around an hour ago for London. If you’d like I could write down a message and post it into his dormitory.”

Magnus swallowed hard. “He’s coming to London?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Could you write…” Magnus wracked his brain for something to say, something to make himself feel better about leaving Alec behind. In the end, he hung up, sucking his lower lip. 

As he came out of the box, he noticed that the boat had arrived, and straightened his back. It was time to go.

Alec would be alright, he promised himself as he boarded. He’d be fine.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Alec finally arrived back in London, three months later, Oscar was already in prison, and Magnus had gone back to Batavia.

He wasn’t sure that London felt like home when he stepped off the boat. His father’s carriage was waiting for him, and Alec sighed upon noticing it. It was somewhat heartening to know that his father hadn’t disowned him completely, but he knew that he in for an absolute nightmare of a reunion dinner.

Nausea churned in his stomach as the carriage made its way through London, and Alec was disturbed by how few rent boys he saw hanging about on the corners. Had all of them been taken? Killed? Disappeared to the continent? His heart felt heavy. 

“Alexander!” His mother rushed forward to hug him as he climbed down from the carriage, her arms squeezing the breath from him. “Oh, my sweet boy! You’re even more handsome than I remember.” 

“Mother,” Alec smiled a little, hugging her back. “How have you been keeping?”

“Why don’t we talk more inside the house?” 

The two of them broke apart at the sound of Robert’s words, and Alec swallowed hard as he pulled out of his mother’s embrace. He held his hand out towards his father, whose lip curled a little at the sight of it. “Inside, please.”

Alec bit into his lower lip as his hand dropped back to his side, gesturing for his mother to go ahead of him. The walk to the drawing room was tense, and the tension only grew as Robert dismissed the servants and closed the door behind them. Robert sat in his favourite armchair, and lit a cigar. Maryse sat down on the sofa, her eyes darting between Robert and Alec nervously. 

“Did you receive my telegrams?” Alec asked, if only to break the silence.

“I did.” Robert answered. “So at least we knew that you hadn’t dropped dead. Though… Honestly, that may have been preferable.”

“Robert!” Maryse gasped, “don’t you dare!”

“The boy is one of Wilde’s little band of demons, Maryse!” 

“The boy is a fully grown man who is capable of making his own decisions.” Alec said evenly. “And I don’t see why it’s any concern of yours who I spend time with; it’s not as if I was implicated at all. Your precious reputation is pristine, father.” 

Robert scoffed. “Damned right it is. If it wasn’t, I’d kill you myself.”

“Robert! Alexander is our son!” Marse shouted, eyes blazing. “I don’t give a monkey’s who he’s lain with or what he’s done!” She looked up at Alec, and reached for his hand. “He’s still my baby boy, and I will protect him with my life. Yes, he’s made some… Immoral decisions, but he’s still the same person that he always was.”

Robert was silent for a moment, and Alec squeezed his mother’s hand in thanks. 

“You had pneumonia.” Robert said quietly, “so you went to the south coast of France by yourself. You know Douglas only because your fathers are peers. You’ve never met Mr Wilde. You’re quite recovered now, and you’re fully focussed on resuming your studies. You have no interest in marriage because you are determined to work in the Dutch embassy and have a one-track mind fixed on that goal. Your father is fully supportive of your career and will continue to fund it as long as you succeed in your goals, though you are too busy to attend family functions and galas. You keep in touch with your mother through letter only. Do I make myself clear?”

Alec swallowed hard. “Yes, Sir.” 

“Good.” Robert took a long drag of his cigar. “Now get out of my house.” 

“Robert, please. Be reasonable. He’s our only child.”

Alec sniffed, and gently pulled his hand from Maryse’s. “It’s perfectly fine, Mother. I’ll be alright, I promise. I’ll write to you every week.” He knelt in front of her. “This is how it must be.”

Maryse cupped his face, and brought him close enough to kiss his forehead. “I love you, always, Alexander. Whatever you do.”

“I know,” Alec smiled weakly. He got up, gave a small bow to his father, and fled the house before Robert changed his mind.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Magnus hadn’t been back in Batavia for very long before he was sent to Amsterdam, the Batavian authorities hoping to take advantage of the fractured leadership there to make a bid for independence. He didn’t mind; he’d adapted rather well to European culture while he’d been in London, and he was tremendously excited to be involved in the process of decolonisation. It had been coming for decades now, and while it was going to be a long, uphill struggle, Magnus was looking forward to sinking his proverbial teeth into it.

In his wildest dreams, he hadn’t expected Amsterdam to be so… Well, queer. 

In the first week of his new life there, Magnus’ fellow Batavian diplomats dragged him to the infamous red light district in the guise of sightseeing, and he could barely believe his eyes at how many men were flaunting themselves just as openly as the women beside them. He almost fainted when one of the other diplomats, a man a little older than Magnus called Imran, got a clap on the back from the rest of his peers when he pointed to the young lad he’d chosen for himself. 

Magnus was aware that he was staring, open-mouthed, as Imran tugged the curtains of the male prostitute’s booth shut, shooting a wink to some of the other diplomats as he did. Wira, the diplomat that had the office next to Magnus’, tilted his head to the side as he took in Magnus’ expression. 

“Does it shock you, Mr Bane? I heard that this kind of thing was all the rage in England.” He narrowed his eyes a little, having assumed that Magnus disapproved. “This is the culture here, and most of us have come to respect it.” 

“Oh, yes, of course,” Magnus nodded hastily, “I assure you, I don’t judge. It’s just that… Well, it was unexpected.” 

Placated, Wira smiled. “If you’re curious, there are a few choice spots that Imran discovered recently. Places that are a little more private?” 

“Perhaps another time,” Magnus wrung his fingers together nervously, feeling a flush creep up the back of his neck. 

Less than a month later, Magnus found himself, alone, in a queer establishment. It was nothing like the seedy brothel in London that Alec had dragged him to that one time when both of them were feeling particularly daring; it was a gentleman’s club, and it seemed completely ordinary at first. It was only when Magnus was shown to a seat did he notice the intense conversations, the gentle caresses, and the sweet cuddling that was going on between the men around him. The energy here wasn’t sexual but romantic, the room lit with candles. Magnus felt a little lonely, and part of him wished he’d accepted Imran’s offer of company. They’d spoken a few times since that night at the red light district, and while Magnus didn’t see a romantic relationship developing between them, it was nice to talk to someone who he could be open with.

“You look terrified.” 

Magnus looked up to see a fairly plain-looking blond man, though his face was kind. He arranged his face into a smile, and tried to look less rattled than he felt. 

“May I?” The stranger asked, and Magnus nodded, gesturing to the seat opposite him. “You’ve never been here before, have you? I imagine it’s overwhelming.” 

“Do I really look that out of place?” Magnus sighed, leaning back in his chair. 

The stranger laughed lightly. “Not out of place. More… Vulnerable.” He looked Magnus up and down briefly, before holding out his hand. “Erik. What’s your name?”

“Uhhh…”

“You don’t have to use a fake name, it’s fine,” Erik teased as Magnus took his hand.

“It’s Magnus,” he admitted sheepishly, “pleasure to meet you.” 

Erik hummed, and relaxed into his own chair. “I’d ask if I could buy you a beer, but I’m assuming you’d have one already if you had any interest in drinking.” 

“You would be correct in that assumption,” Magnus shrugged, “I’m Muslim, so…”

“I thought so,” Erik smiled. “I had a Muslim boyfriend a while back. Where are you from?” 

Magnus felt his shoulders ease as he made small talk with Erik, finding himself talking animatedly about his work with no qualms about being overheard or recognised. It was nice. 

What felt like hours later, Erik tangled their fingers together, lifting Magnus’ hand to his mouth to kiss his knuckles. “Magnus,” he murmured, blue eyes twinkling with naughtiness. “Would you like to come home with me?”

“Oh, uhm…” Magnus’ throat closed up, shifting in his seat. “I’m afraid I’m really not in a position to be anyone’s boyfriend.” 

Erik smirked. “Who said anything about being boyfriends?”

Magnus’ breath caught in his throat as Erik’s penetrating gaze raked down his body, and his mind was made up. He hadn’t made love since Alec, over a year ago, and he was so desperately lonely…

“Let’s go,” he breathed, letting Erik pull him to his feet.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Alec found out that his father died because it was on the front page of the evening news. He’d gotten out of the cab to walk across St James’ Park. His constant smoking over the last few years had caught up with him, and the doctor had ordered him to take more exercise. As was his habit, he took a paper from the vendor next to the park gate and cast his eyes over the headline, stopping short in his tracks. 

FOREIGN SECRETARY DEAD FROM HEART ATTACK

The first emotion that crashed down on Alec’s shoulders was relief, and for that he felt immediately guilty. He hurried home, almost tripping a few people up as he read the article. A few members of the press were waiting on the street outside his door, and Alec ducked his head, ignoring the questions as he let himself into his flat. 

Upon finding himself in his own home, away from the prying eyes of the public, Alec sunk into the nearest armchair to put his head in his hands. His priority had to be his mother, he told himself, eyes wide and staring down at his feet. 

After a few moments of numbness, Alec forced himself to get up, and changed out of his stiff suit he wore to work in the Embassy and into a comfortable linen shirt. It took a little longer to squeeze past the press on the way out, wordlessly pushing through them before hailing a cab. In his daze, he could barely remember the address of his parents’ house, but eventually he stuttered it out, and the driver set off. It had started to rain, at some point, and Alec stuck his face out the window, willing the cold drops of water to clear his mind, but he couldn’t summon a single thought. 

Maryse was similarly shocked when he was finally shown into her sitting room. There was a cup of tea next to her which was no longer steaming, and she was staring straight ahead, out of the window. Alec crossed the room to her, crouching next to her knee. She didn’t blink.

“Mother,” Alec whispered, reaching out to take her hand. “I’m here. I’m home.” 

That made her snap out of her reverie, and she looked down at her son with fondness in her eyes, lifting her hand to cup his cheek. “Alexander, my sweet boy.”

“I’m so sorry, mother.” Alec said quietly, getting up to sit next to her on the sofa as she shifted over a few inches. “I’m sorry you were alone.” 

Maryse swallowed hard, and smiled weakly. “There’s nothing you could have done, darling. Your father led a wicked life, and God has taken him now. It was his time.” 

“I’ll make sure that you keep the house, mother, I swear. You’ll want for nothing.” Alec promised, discomfort settling low in his stomach as Maryse toyed with the cross around her neck. 

“I don’t care about the house,” Maryse laughed breathlessly, putting her head on Alec’s shoulder. “I care that you’re here. Thank you for coming.”

“Of course I came,” Alec sighed, holding her close. “I wasn’t exactly fond of him, but he was still my father. And I couldn’t let you go through this by yourself.” 

“The funeral director is in there with him. I couldn’t bear to look at him, Alexander, it was so awful. He inflated like an awful balloon, his face… He looked like a monster.” She started to tremble, and Alec held her tighter. 

“I’m sure they’ll put him to rights before the viewing,” Alec assured her. “Would you like me to make the arrangements? Have the police been? What do you need?”

“The police have come and gone,” Maryse sniffed, reaching for her lukewarm cup of tea. “If you could go and deal with the funeral director, I would appreciate it. I have to receive the Prime Minister soon.” 

Alec nodded, and made his way down the hallway to his father’s bedroom, where the body had apparently been laid out for the viewing. He knocked out of habit, which was absurd, considering his father was dead and wasn’t about to answer him. Nevertheless, he heard someone tell him to come in, and he opened the door.

The funeral director was a lot younger than Alec had been expecting, and wore thick glasses that were slipping down his nose as he dabbed something over Robert’s face. Alec stepped up to the bed, and looked down at his father. 

He didn’t look as bad as Alec had been expecting; he simply looked as if he’d fallen asleep. The bitterness that he’d held in his brow in life was smoothed out completely, and though Alec had no faith, he found that he believed that his father had found peace. Part of him wondered whether the old bastard deserved it. 

“Are you the son?” The funeral director asked, and Alec nodded, not taking his eyes from the face of his father. 

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

Alec hummed, sitting on the edge of the bed. He felt his eyes fill with tears as he touched his father’s hand, cool and lifeless. It struck him that his father had never, not once, touched him when he was alive. Their time was up, he realised, their chance to reconcile and understand each other had slipped through his fingers. Alec sniffed a few times to keep his emotions in check. At the feeling of a warm hand touching his shoulder, he jumped, and looked around to see the funeral director giving him a sympathetic look. 

“You must have really cared for him.”

Alec laughed humourlessly. “No, we hated each other. It’s just…”

“Now you won’t be able to repair the rift,” the funeral director sighed, shaking his head. “Perhaps that’s worse.” 

“Yeah,” Alec agreed, swiping at the tears on his face. “Apologies, I’ve been rude. I’m Alexander Lightwood.”

“Simon Lewis,” he nodded, “and please don’t apologise. Trust me, grief makes people a lot ruder than simply forgetting to introduce yourself. You’re a dream.”

Alec couldn’t help but smile a little at that. “Thank you.” 

Simon shrugged, and turned back to his work, making Robert presentable for the viewing to begin. Not knowing what else to do, Alec sat and watched the younger man work, forcing himself to pay attention to Simon rather than allowing himself to think about his father. Simon was pleasant to look at; he wasn’t intimidating in the least, and soft around the edges somehow. 

“Would you prefer carnations or tulips for the flower arrangements?” Simon asked after a long moment of silence, and Alec hummed. A spiteful part of him wanted to order green carnations, but for the sake of his mother, he stopped himself.

“Tulips, I think. Perhaps red?” 

“Good choice,” Simon hummed, “red tulips are a declaration of love.”

“Eugh,” Alec wrinkled his nose, “perhaps that’s a little too much.”

Simon chuckled, shaking his head. “What message would you prefer to convey?”

Alec considered it for a moment. “Consolation.”

“Then white poppies it is. It’ll be lovely.”

“Do you have the entire flower dictionary memorised?” Alec asked, quirking an eyebrow. 

Simon grinned. “Part of the job.”

Alec hummed, and that was how he found himself sitting through an hour-long lecture on the meanings of dozens of different flowers. Surprisingly, listening to Simon speak so enthusiastically about something so frivolous lifted his spirits, and by the time the Prime Minister and the senior cabinet arrived, Alec felt a lot more human than he had all day. 

And if he got home two days later to a delivery of ten red tulips, with a card from one Simon Lewis, well…

He hadn’t felt so human in almost two years.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“How was your evening with that huge Russian? What was his name, again?” Magnus asked, looking up at the ceiling as he wracked his brain.

“I can’t remember and I slept with him, don’t hurt yourself trying to recall,” Imran answered, his mouth curled devilishly. “But the evening was perfectly nice.”

Magnus winced. “Perfectly nice? How tremendously harsh of you.” 

“It was fine!” Imran insisted, “he simply didn’t know when to leave, it got a little awkward.”

“Oh, I despise that,” Magnus sighed, shaking his head as he chewed a mouthful of rice. “Especially when you’ve made it clear that emotions are not part of the equation.”

“Precisely,” Imran rolled his eyes. “Men love to insist that women are the fairer, more breakable sex, but you don’t know fragility until you’ve rejected a European man.”

Magnus snorted into his lunch. “Oh, I wish you weren’t correct, but you truly are.”

Imran grinned. “So, how about you? I heard that you’ve settled quite nicely into the community here.”

“I’ve been experiencing plenty of Dutch culture.” Magnus purred, wiggling his eyebrows, and Imran laughed a little too loudly, making some of the other patrons of the embassy restaurant glance over at them. 

“I’m glad you’ve found the time. I have no idea how you do it, juggling negotiations and managing to find time to fuck.” 

Magnus shrugged. “I find that making love takes my mind off the pressure and makes it all go a lot smoother. At this point I’ve almost convinced myself that I’m kissing all the men in Amsterdam for the good of Batavia.” The admission made him feel a little guilty, though he knew that releasing tensions was good for his state of mind. It wasn’t untrue that fornicating like this was assisting him in his work, but…

It didn’t mean that his soul didn’t ache, sometimes.

He knew, realistically, that it couldn’t last. Eventually, people would start to get suspicious that he was unmarried. He was in his thirties already, with not so much as an engagement. Magnus sighed softly as Imran started to fill him in on his flirtation with one of the bartenders at their favourite queer bar, casting his mind to the galas that he was expected to attend. Perhaps he should put more effort into forging relationships with the high society folk; it was just that in his experience they tended to call him things like ‘exotic’, and that just made him outright uncomfortable. 

Magnus stared at the wood of the table, tracing patterns with his thumbnail, and promised himself that he’d try and find a few female friends, at least. He missed female company, if he was honest; men could be awfully boring at times, with their enormous egos and refusal to take no for an answer. 

Perhaps what he needed was to look for a deeper relationship, something that wasn’t just about releasing tension. What Magnus really needed was a partner.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Alec, love, are you alright?” 

“Hmm?”

Simon’s deep brown eyes held concern, magnified through his eyeglasses, and Alec found himself unable to meet them. “You’ve been staring at that page for over a minute. Lost in thoughts of me?” His lips quirked up, eyebrow arching in the cheeky way it did when Simon thought he was saying something a little bit naughty. 

“Yes,” Alec smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Exactly that.”

A little waver in Simon’s smile told Alec that the younger man didn’t buy a word of his excuse, but he put himself in Alec’s lap anyway, folding his glasses inside his pocket to kiss Alec’s temple. “I love you,” Simon whispered, “and you know you can tell me anything.” 

Alec sighed. “I know. It’s ridiculous, really. I’ll be fine in a few hours.”

The black printed numbers on the page in front of him seemed to throb as he looked down at his diary. 13th March 1897. Three years to the day since he last laid eyes on Magnus Bane. 

Simon didn’t know about Magnus. 

He knew about Bosie, Reggie, dear Oscar, all the meaningless trysts with rent boys and lithe poets at Oxford. But even after almost a year of courting him, Alec couldn’t bring himself to tell Simon about Magnus. Magnus Bane, who’d long since sailed back home to Batavia. Who’d no doubt forgotten all about his brief fling with a snotty, immature English boy.

“Do you want some space, Alec?” Simon asked, running his fingers through Alec’s hair gently. He was well-accustomed to Alec’s bouts of melancholy, and by now knew that the best way to deal with them was to ask Alec what he needed. 

Alec wound his arms around Simon’s waist, and buried his face in the soft, perfumed skin of Simon’s throat. “No,” he mumbled, “stay. Please.” 

Simon smiled, closing his eyes as he breathed in the smell of Alec’s hair. “I’ll stay as long as you need me to.” 

He’d tell Simon about Magnus soon, Alec promised himself. Just not today.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You know, Mr Bane, anyone would think that you’re purposefully trying to bait me.” Dorothea narrowed her eyes at him, her neck arching a little to the side.

“Nonsense, Miss Rollins,” Magnus insisted, “I do not drink, as you know, and unfortunately the fact was lost in translation. Chinese is an awfully difficult language; it’s a wonder that I managed to communicate at all. But I digress; you should take some wine. I’ve heard, from my time in England, that alcohol is very effective in keeping one warm. And it’s an awfully cold spring.” 

Dorothea leaned forward a little, smiling now. Magnus had to consciously stop himself from showing all his teeth in his own grin. He’d met Dot Rollins at a gala a few months ago, and had been perfectly smitten with her from the off. Luckily for him, she was also interested in him, and they’d struck up a very singular kind of friendship. “Very well. Since it’ll go to waste otherwise. We wouldn’t want to offend the Chinese, now would we?”

“Oh, certainly not,” Magnus tutted playfully, pouring her a glass and handing it to her.

“My mother would wring my neck if she knew I was drinking with you,” Dorothea didn’t sound too regretful, and Magnus hummed.

“Technically, you aren’t drinking with me, since I am not having a drink of my own.”

Dorothea laughed, glancing over at their chaperone. “Teddy, would you please go and fetch my cigarettes from the carriage? That is one vice I know Mr Bane indulges in.”

“Yes, milady,” Teddy nodded, glancing furtively at Magnus before darting from the room. 

In an instant, Dorothea had launched herself into Magnus’ arms, their lips colliding fiercely. “Oh, God, Magnus, I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” Magnus whispered, the two of them giggling like children as they came up for breath. “Is all this sneakiness really necessary, Dot? You know I have every intention of making an honest woman out of you.”

“Oh, rubbish,” Dot insisted, raking her fingers through Magnus’ hair. “Don’t ruin the moment, darling. We only have a moment before Teddy comes back.” She tugged Magnus’ hand under her skirts. 

Magnus licked his lips, and with a wiggle of his eyebrows and a squeal of delight from Dot, decided that the proposal could wait for another day. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Alec grabbed Simon’s arm gently. “Wait a moment.” 

The younger man stopped in his tracks, looking between Alec and the front door of their new home with confusion. Alec grinned and held up a finger, before turning back to the cab driver. Once he’d paid the fare, the two men watched him go. 

“Alec, what are we waiting for?” Simon asked, sounding tired. They’d been moving boxes across the city all day, and he just wanted to sit down with a brandy. 

“One moment, love,” Alec murmured, his eyes fixed on a pair of policemen rounding the corner down the street. As soon as they were out of sight, he turned back to the younger man and swept him up into his arms.

“Alec!” Simon yelped, grabbing onto his shoulders with wide eyes. “What in God’s name are you doing?!”

Alec laughed, carrying Simon up the steps of their home. After almost eighteen months together, Alec had invited Simon to come and live with him, full time. He was awfully lonely since his mother had moved to Spain to be close to her sister, and it made sense since Simon stayed over most nights, anyway. “Well, since we’re never going to get married… Oh, bollocks, could you… Get the door?” 

Simon shook his head, eyes alight with joy. “You’re an imbecile, you know that?”

“Yeah, and you’re really heavy, god dammit. Open the door!” Alec huffed.

With a flick of Simon’s wrist, they were inside the hallway, and Alec put Simon down with a groan. Simon grinned, keeping his hands stubbornly around the older man’s neck. “That was adorable.”

“Oh, I know. I’ve been planning it since I was about six and realised I was queer.” Alec admitted, ducking down to press his forehead to Simon’s. “The first time I dreamed of being with someone like you.” 

Simon sighed, his thumbs petting the downy hair on the nape of Alec’s neck. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Alec gently took Simon’s hands from around his neck, tugging him to the drawing room. “I have to confess something. I should’ve done it months ago.” 

“Of course…” Simon chewed on his lower lip as Alec sat down on the sofa. “What’s bothering you?”

Alec folded his hands together in his lap. “When we first met, you expressed that you couldn’t believe that you’d met a man who made you... “ Alec cleared his throat. “You told me that you never imagined that men could love each other like we do. You thought up until then that all men could enjoy together was…. Well, fucking.” 

“Right…” Simon frowned, folding his arms. 

“Well, the thing is, I already knew.” Alec admitted, wringing his hands together. “I’ve… I was in love with someone else. Another man. A while before I met you. And I’ve never mentioned him because it still hurts. I’ve tried to wait it out, but…” Alec sighed, running his hand down his face. “It still pains me to even think his name.” 

“Oh.” Simon sat down next to his lover, his hands taking Alec’s. “That’s it? You…” Simon smiled, tilting his head to the side. “You were really that worried to tell me that you feel the weight of an old flame? Alec…” He sighed, shaking his head a little. “Everyone does.”

Alec breathed out slowly. “I suppose I was worried that you’d feel less special, somehow, if you knew that I’d loved another man before you.” 

“Alec, I don’t mean to be indelicate but I was well aware that you were no stranger to the company of other men long before you met me. Besides, you’re mine now. We live together. We’re a partnership. Whoever that other man was, the man idiotic enough to break your heart, he’s irrelevant. We’re here, the two of us. Together.” Simon smiled, cupping Alec’s cheek. 

“He wasn’t an idiot,” Alec said quietly, eyes in his lap, “he was doing his duty. It was… Quite heroic, actually.”

Simon shrugged one shoulder. Something about the wistful way Alec said it made something uneasy settle in the pit of Simon’s stomach. “Either way…”

“I belong to you now,” Alec nodded, turning his face into the other man’s palm. “And you belong to me.” 

“Exactly. And this weight you feel, it will pass with time. I promise.” 

Alec’s lips quirked, and he kissed Simon’s palm. Satisfied for the moment, the younger man got up, and straightened his waistcoat. As he wandered off to rummage through the boxes they’d left in the hall, Alec let out a sigh. Yes, he knew that one day his heart would stop aching for Magnus. But he also knew that there was a part of his soul that, no matter how much he loved Simon, would die the day that he finally let Magnus go. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The ring box in his pocket was starting to get unbearably heavy.

It had been two months since he’d bought it, and every week he’d seen Dot, convincing himself that today would be the day that he’d finally propose. He’d gotten close several times; just last week he’d gotten half the sentence out and then changed the subject completely, going off on a tangent about something so inane that he couldn’t remember what it was.

He had no reason not to ask her to marry him. He and Dot got along famously, their lives would streamline almost seamlessly together, and he was sure that he definitely loved her. He couldn’t help but smile every time she cast a glance his way. He must be in love. This was what real, adult love was. She made him feel like he knew what he was doing; there was no uncertainty with her. There was no mystery, no anxiety about the future. They’d get married, and most likely have children, and grow old together, laughing all the way. 

It would be a good life.

And yet, something held him back. 

Magnus looked at his pocket watch, smoothing his thumb over the face of it. His lungs froze in his chest as he read the date and realised he’d missed it. 

He’d missed the anniversary of his last night with Alec. It had been weeks ago, and it had passed Magnus by without a whisper. He hadn’t even thought to keep track… 

What would happen next year? Would he even remember the exact date? What if the exact number got away from him? What if he forgot Alec himself? The shade of his eyes, green in some lights and light brown in others. The tilt of his head when he murmured something he knew he wasn’t supposed to. Magnus swallowed hard, and tucked his pocket watch back into his jacket, taking out the box to look at the ring, staring down at the diamond set into it.

Perhaps he was meant to forget Alec. 

He was meant to marry Dot. 

“Magnus! You’re early!” 

Magnus looked up from the box in his hands to see Dot standing in the doorway, her eyes wide. “I… Your servant said that you’d be another half an hour… I was happy to wait.” He wrenched the box behind his back, but it was too late.

“Magnus…” Dot touched her chest, shock written all over her face. “You…”

“Dorothea,” Magnus murmured, the hairs standing up on the back of his neck as he moved from the sofa to get on one knee. “This is not the grand romantic proposal I had planned, but…” He hesitated, casting his eyes up to hers. 

The two of them were silent for a very long, agonising moment.

Dot looked like she was about to panic, and not in a good way. Magnus knew that he wasn’t faring much better. He opened the ring box once more, and Dot’s hand flew to her mouth.

“Oh, please, Magnus, please…”

“Will you marry me?” Magnus asked, heart thudding heavily in his chest. 

Dot shook her head slowly. “Please don’t… Please, Magnus, please tell me you’re joking.” 

“Joking?” Magnus repeated.

“You can’t possibly think… Oh, Magnus!” Dot’s face scrunched up, tears welling in the water line of her eyes. “Don’t make me say it!”

Magnus snapped the box shut, his lower lip trembling. He couldn’t decide whether he could cry from relief or heartbreak. “I thought… We’ve been courting for months.”

“Courting?!” Dot gasped, a startled laugh escaping her. “Oh, darling…” She reached for his face, but he flinched away.

“What have we been doing, for months and months, if not courting?” Magnus asked, eyes round and earnest as he searched Dot’s gaze. 

“Darling, you know I adore you, but I am the sole heir to my father’s business. I can’t marry just anyone.”

Magnus sniffed. “I see. So I’m not rich enough. Or is it the colour of my skin?”

“Magnus, don’t make assumptions.” Dot said sharply. “You know full well that I mean that I need to marry someone in the same industry, merge with another company. I have to do my duty, for the good of my employees.” 

Magnus had to bite back a gasp of pain at that.

History had repeated itself, it seemed. And this time he was the one impeding someone’s destiny. This was how Alec had felt, he realised, sinking down onto the sofa. 

“I’ll go,” Magnus said quietly, “it’s alright, Dot. I understand. I apologize for misreading the situation.” 

“I’m sorry for not making it clear,” Dot replied, rubbing his arm as he stood. “I like you, Magnus, and these months we’ve spent together have been lovely. But…”

“Your duty must come first,” Magnus nodded, smiling weakly. “I understand. I promise.”

They hugged before he left, Dot squeezing him tightly as he buried his face in her shoulder. As he climbed into a cab, he let out a shaky sigh, and pinched the bridge of his nose to keep from tearing up. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Alec knew that something was wrong the moment that he let himself into the house. 

Requiem Mass in D Minor was playing from the gramophone, and a sense of dread filled Alec upon hearing it, placing his hat on the stand and sitting down on the stairs to remove his shoes. Simon only ever played this particular record when he’d had a particularly difficult time; the last time was when he’d had to work the funeral of an ex lover. 

In the drawing room, an empty bottle of whiskey lay on its side by the fire, and Simon was curled up on his side, facing the flickering flames. Alec swallowed hard. 

“Simon?” Alec murmured, crossing the room to kneel next to his lover. “What’s wrong?” 

Simon squeezed his eyes shut as he felt Alec’s gentle touch on his waist, tears he’d thought had already dried squeezing fresh from his eyes. “My father came.”

He slowly heaved himself up to sit, revealing a purple bruise on his eye. Alec gasped, raising his hand to stroke Simon’s cheek. “He did this to you?”

“Yes,” Simon said quietly, crawling into Alec’s lap, his lower lip trembling. “He found out that I was living here, and… H-he’s sending me away, Alec.” 

Alec squeezed the younger man gently, shaking his head. “No, no, he can’t do that. I can look after you, Simon, we don’t need him. You don’t need him.”

“No, you don’t understand,” Simon sniffed, whimpering into Alec’s dress shirt, “if I don’t go, he’s going to tell the police, and they’ll arrest the both of us. He’s been collecting evidence. Talked to Queensberry for advice. I have to go, Alec. I… I don’t have a choice.” 

“He can’t,” Alec breathed, cupping Simon’s face in both his hands. “We’ll… We’ll run away together, far away.”

Simon shook his head, leaning up to kiss Alec softly. “It’s done. I-I’m… I’m leaving tomorrow. For South Africa.” 

“No,” Alec choked, pressing their foreheads together. “No, this can’t be happening. No…”

“It is, Alec,” Simon swallowed hard, pulling away and getting to his feet, swaying a little. “I won’t let my father ruin your life as well as mine. You…” He sobbed, pressing his hands to his face. “You have to have a good life.”

“And I’m supposed to do that without you?” Alec asked, grabbing Simon’s elbows. “How am I supposed to live without you?” 

Simon’s shoulders shook, and Alec hugged him again, burying his face in the younger man’s curly hair. He was too shocked to cry, so he just held Simon tightly, staring unblinkingly at the wall.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

By the last year of the century, Magnus had come to terms with the fact that he’d never get married. After the disastrous embarrassment he’d suffered with Dot, Magnus had chosen to focus on his career, and the following year slipped away as his diplomatic reputation surged. He was second in command now, so close to gaining the top position at the Batavian Embassy. As all his peers got distracted by children and wives, he rose to the top, able to pull longer hours and riskier moves in negotiations. 

He’d become more successful than he’d ever dared to imagine when he was an adolescent dreaming of making the world a better place. Magnus was proud of himself, and for once, felt totally satisfied. He got a tremendous sense of worth from the good that he was doing, and it meant that he no longer needed to seek out strangers to warm his bed.

That part was just an occasional treat, nowadays. 

Amsterdam felt more like home than Batavia had felt since his mother had died. He and Imran had moved in next door to each other, and most evenings were spent in each others’ company, comparing notes on their respective meetings. They’d fallen into a rhythm of supportive, platonic companionship, and Magnus thanked Allah for that blessing every day. He didn’t cope well with solitude, and Imran understood him in ways that not many people ever had. They needed each other. 

Yes, Magnus was blessed. He couldn’t ask for more. He had everything he’d ever wanted.

Well…

All but one thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alec needed to learn that he couldn't just flaunt himself around and get away with it; he learned that lesson the hard way through losing Oscar to prison and Simon to South Africa.
> 
> Magnus needed to learn that sometimes you have to do things for yourself and not just for your reputation or career. He learned that lesson by making friends with Imran and through his relationship with Dot.
> 
> Now, do you think Magnus and Alec are ready to give their relationship another shot?


	4. ‘I am the Love That Dare Not Speak its Name’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter! Malec are reunited! 
> 
> No trigger warnings for this chapter! It's all reuniting, fluffy goodness!

“Nineteen hundred still sounds positively Godless to me. Where did the time go? Imagine; we’re in the twentieth century!” 

Magnus laughed, shaking his head a little. “My dear Ragnor, you know as well as I do that we’ve been in the twentieth century for over four years now, and yet you still insist on marvelling over it every time you consume a glass of brandy.” 

The ladies standing with them tittered, and Ragnor scoffed.

“Only because it is so unbelievable!”

“So, Mr Bane, what do you make of Amsterdam? Are you enjoying yourself here?” Lady Van den Berg asked, puffing delicately on her cigarette. 

“Well, I’ve been living in Amsterdam for almost six years now,” Magnus explained, “but it’s such a big place, honestly I still find myself in a totally new street every now and then. It keeps the city fresh in my heart.”

“That’s romantic of you. Alma, isn’t he romantic?” 

“Very, mother.” Alma Van den Berg answered, her cheeks a little pink as Magnus glanced at her. Ragnor huffed a bit, and excused himself to go and find himself a drink. 

“Now, Mr Bane, are you married?” Lady Van den Berg asked him, taking his arm and leading him a little way away from the assembled party-goers towards the balcony. 

Magnus laughed nervously. “I’m afraid not, Lady Van den Berg. I haven’t been so lucky.”

“Whyever not?!” She demanded, clutching onto his lapel. “You are so educated, and so handsome! Surely you must have left a trail of broken hearts in your travels.” 

“You give me too much credit,” Magnus smiled, inclining his head politely. “I simply haven’t been settled in one place long enough, I suppose.”

“Well I hear that you’re positively adored at the embassy! So I could assume that you plan to stay here in Amsterdam for quite some time?”

“I intend to live here for as long as I’m able to work, yes. Amsterdam has become my home,” he replied, “though if you are looking for a match for your lovely daughter, I’m afraid I’d be a terrible husband. I’m married to my work, you see.” 

Lady Van den Berg laughed, patting him lightly on the chest as she threw back her head. “Oh, nonsense. You are a kind man, I can see it in your eyes. Alma is a sweet and gentle girl, and pretty enough. She’s my youngest, Mr Bane, and the last of my girls to be married off. Her dowry is-”

“Lady Van den Berg,” Magnus chuckled, holding up a hand to stop her. “I am deeply flattered that you consider me worthy of your daughter’s affections, but I am simply not in the market for a wife. As I said, I have devoted myself entirely to my work. I am too old to fall in love.”

He didn’t hear Lady Van den Berg’s response, because at that moment Magnus’ eye was caught by a very familiar silhouette crossing his peripheral vision. His head snapped up, and sure enough, standing over at the bar, was Alexander Lightwood himself. It had been just over ten years since the last time he’d laid eyes on Alec, and he’d matured beautifully, with grace. He’d be, what? Thirty, now, surely. At least. His hair was just as thick as it always had been, though he wore it differently. The curl had gone from it; it was stiffer, somehow. And his suit was… Well, it was very fashionable, cut in the latest style, but it wasn’t an ostentatious burgundy or cream or, thank Heaven, pink. It was a subtle deep forest green, so dark it was almost black. Magnus smiled slightly at the suggestion of how lovely the colour would made Alec’s eyes look. 

“Mr Bane? Are you quite well?” 

Magnus blinked several times, tearing his eyes away from Alec to look down at Lady Van den Berg. “Yes, yes, milady, of course. I’m sorry, I’m afraid I’ve just seen an old friend. Excuse me.” 

He didn’t wait to hear her response, crossing the room before he could talk himself into being nervous. Alec was faced mostly away from him, his eyebrows furrowed as he spoke passionately to someone that Magnus recognised from the Spanish embassy. He was arguing, Magnus realised, in perfect Spanish, and didn’t even notice Magnus until they were standing next to each other. 

Alec looked over to see who had sidled up next to them, and the moment that he realised it was Magnus, his words trailed off. Magnus marvelled at the colour of Alec’s eyes, after all this time. Alec stared at him, greedily drinking in the sparkle of affection that Magnus’ deep, dark eyes still held. Both barely blinked for a long moment, and Alec knotted his hands together behind his back to keep from reaching out to touch the older man’s face. The temptation was just too real.

“Alec,” Magnus breathed, barely noticing the Spaniard skulk away. “It’s me.”

“I… Magnus.” Alec sighed, his face almost splitting in two with the size of his grin. 

Neither of them knew what to say, the two of them standing there in the middle of a crowded party with their mouths hanging idiotically open. Eventually, Magnus’ senses came back and blood flooded his cheeks, tilting his head towards the balcony. The Van den Bergs had rejoined the party, and the balcony was empty and cool. Magnus tugged Alec around the corner, and hugged him fiercely. 

“Oh, Alec,” Magnus whispered, burying his face in the younger man’s shoulder. “This is… This is God’s doing.”

“I barely believe in God and I believe you.” Alec laughed, rubbing his cheek into Magnus’ hair. “I had no idea you were in Amsterdam.”

“Nor I you!” They broke apart, still holding each other by the shoulders. “I’ve been stationed here for six years. I run the Batavian embassy now.”

Alec smiled, squeezing Magnus’ arm. “That’s wonderful, Magnus. You must be making amazing change.” 

“Yes, yes, I…” Magnus shook his head, unable to resist touching Alec’s face. “I can’t believe you’re here, after all this time.”

“I live here now, too. I was just given a position as a diplomat in the British embassy. I’ve been working in the Dutch Embassy in London since I graduated from Oxford, but I got transferred here a few months ago, since I was the only unmarried diplomat available.”

Magnus swallowed hard, thumb ghosting across the apple of Alec’s cheek. “Still unmarried?”

“Yeah,” Alec whispered, his hand hesitantly taking Magnus’ hip. “How about you?”

“A total bachelor.”

“Eligible?” Alec asked, tilting his head to the side a little. 

Magnus laughed softly. “Completely.”

Alec nodded, eyes roaming greedily over the older man’s face. They stood in silence for a moment, both trying desperately to think of something to say to take back the last ten years. It felt like mere minutes. Magnus found himself as full of heartache as he had been the day he’d kicked Alec out of his rooms, and he sighed, pulling back. 

“Magnus,” Alec sighed, taking both of Magnus’ hands in his. “I am so sorry.”

Magnus smiled slightly, shaking his head. “It’s in the past.”

“No, I need to say this,” Alec insisted, swallowing hard. “I know now why you did what you did. Since we went our separate ways, I’ve experienced so many awful things, and when I knew you, I was stupid. I was so, so reckless and just… I was an idiot. You were right to end things. You were right. You were always right, Magnus. But…” He licked his lips, stepping into Magnus’ space. “I know better now. I promise. I grew up… A lot.” He chuckled. “But the main thing is… I ached for you. Every minute we were apart. I feel like my soul has been fractured, and I swear the moment I saw you, just now… It healed in an instant.”

“I know,” Magnus said softly, pressing his forehead into Alec’s. “Mine too. And the truth is, when I was with you, I wasted time. I wasted so much energy into worrying about the future, about what people thought, that I forgot to hold onto what really mattered. I needed to learn some things too. And… Well…” Magnus smirked, “I suppose I learned to be a little more reckless. Since we parted, I’ve spent more time making myself happy instead of denying myself for propriety’s sake, and honestly, my career is only stronger for it. So, what I’m trying to say is, you were right, too. I should’ve fought for us.” 

Alec shook his head, eyes glistening. “I love you, Magnus. I still love you.” 

“I love you too,” Magnus whispered, grinning from ear to ear. “I thought I had to choose between you and my career, my people, but I don’t.”

“You’ll carry my soul no matter what might happen,” Alec promised, winding their fingers together.

“And you mine.” 

Alec sighed, wanting so badly to take Magnus in his arms and kiss him senseless, but no matter how liberal Amsterdam was, they couldn’t be seen being intimate together at a high society event. “You know how much I love parties,” he hummed, “but would you like to leave?”

“Oh, please take me away from here.” Magnus chuckled, “if I have to politely decline another proposal of marriage I’ll positively die.” 

There was plenty of cabs outside the gala, and Magnus insisted on paying as they hopped in. All of Alec’s arguments to the contrary evaporated as Magnus closed the door of the cab, and they found themselves alone for the first time in a decade. For a moment, neither man knew what to say, just reacquainting themselves with the charm of the other man’s eyes. 

“Your eyes are just as beautiful as I remember,” Alec smiled, “I’m glad that I had that photograph of you, but it could never have done justice to how your eyes shine.”

“Alexander,” Magnus huffed, and he rolled his eyes, dismissing the compliment. “Still as poetic as ever, I see.” 

“I missed you.”

Magnus smiled, leaning in to press their foreheads together. “I missed you too. I felt… There was an ache in the pit of my heart that nothing could soothe.”

“Mine too,” Alec nodded. “I, uh… I had another lover. For a while. Well… A few years, actually. We lived together.”

“Oh?” Magnus chuckled, “I got very close to getting married.” 

Alec hummed. “But we found our way back to each other.” 

“Of course we did,” Magnus said softly, cupping Alec’s cheek. “Because this is where the two of us are meant to be.” 

In the next instant, they were kissing, and Alec sighed like it was the first breath he’d taken in years as Magnus’ tongue slipped against his lower lip. Magnus’ arms wrapped around his waist and pulled him closer, and Alec squirmed, feeling so happy he was almost light-headed. All the stress, all the pressure he’d put on himself in the last few months melted away, and it took everything he had not to crawl into Magnus’ lap like he used to. 

“I love you,” Alec breathed, “I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Alexander,” Magnus replied, smiling so wide he could barely kiss the younger man any more. “You… You’ve gotten bigger, if you don’t mind me saying.”

Alec laughed. “Yeah, I actually eat good food and avoid alcohol now. Oh, and I gave up smoking and started taking exercise. Just you wait until you see the muscle under here,” he patted his chest, grinning wickedly. “You won’t know where to look.”

“I’m glad to hear you’re taking better care of yourself,” Magnus said, pride shining in his eyes. “You were a skinny little wretch back in Oxford.”

“Mostly because I survived on cigarettes, whiskey and the occasional five star meal.” Alec snorted, “what an immature snivelling brat I was.” 

“You were perfectly charming,” Magnus insisted.

Alec smiled. “I’m going to work harder this time to make you feel special. You always made me feel so good about myself.”

“Alec, I never felt anything less than perfect when I was with you.” Magnus promised, “you really weren’t as selfish as you remember. I swear.”

“Good, thank God.” Alec sighed, rubbing Magnus’ arm. “Oh! Well… That’s gotten bigger, too.” 

Magnus chuckled, shaking his head a little. “My friend Imran was stationed in India for a few years and he learned yoga, this kind of exercise regime they have there. We do it every morning, it’s very good for the body.”

“Hmmm… Well I for one can’t wait to see you naked again.”

Magnus threw back his head and laughed. “You haven’t changed as much as you think,” he pointed out, his heart warming at the mischievous boyish twinkle in Alec’s eye that was oh so familiar. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope you all enjoyed this fic as much as I enjoyed writing it. PLEASE let me know what you liked and didn't like about it; I worked my ass off and feedback is everything to me!
> 
> I'm thinking of doing a one-shot of Magnus and Alec's 'opening night' together - I couldn't put sex scenes in here because I had an underage artist, but sex was a super important part of the queer community in this time period. Would anyone be interested?


	5. Epilogue

“Angel, are you here yet?” Magnus called, placing his briefcase down next to the shoe rack. 

“In the study! One moment!” Alec yelled back, making Magnus roll his eyes slightly as he removed his shoes. The younger man had been ordered to take some time away from the embassy after successfully negotiating the return of a high-profile Dutch prisoner from Reading Gaol, but it was against Alec’s nature to do nothing. 

“You’re supposed to be relaxing, Angel!”

Alec groaned loud enough that Magnus could hear it from the hallway, which made him laugh. “You’re starting to sound like my mother, you know that?” 

“I should be honoured to take after your Sainted mother,” Magnus muttered sarcastically, and Alec snorted with laughter. “Anyway, did you get a newspaper this afternoon?”

“No, why?” Alec asked, pecking Magnus on the lips in hello as he wandered out into the hallway. 

Magnus handed the newspaper to Alec, biting his lower lip. 

AUSTRO-HUNGARIAN ARCHDUKE ASSASSINATED BY SERBIAN REBELS

“What?!” Alec gasped, eyes wide as he scanned the front page. 

“Apparently there’s going to be war,” Magnus said quietly, “though I can’t see the Dutch getting involved, the British will almost certainly stick their noses in.” 

Alec nodded. “I haven’t gotten any telegrams yet.” Catching sight of Magnus’ grim expression, he put the newspaper aside, and cupped his face. “Whatever happens, I’m going to stay by your side. I promise.” 

“But what if-”

“Shhh,” Alec soothed, rubbing their noses together. “Nothing, and I mean nothing on Earth or in Heaven, will ever tear me from you. Alright?”

Magnus smiled slightly, taking Alec’s wrists in his hands. “I believe you.”

“As you should,” Alec hummed, kissing him softly on the lips, “as your future husband I insist on staying here to protect you.”

“You protecting me?” Magnus snorted, pulling away. “Remind me which spoiled little public schoolboy still leaps onto armchairs to get away from mice?”

Alec frowned pointedly. “Their tails are just awful.”

Magnus laughed. 

“Besides, you’re scared of the dark.” 

“You’re scared of spiders.”

“Well… Their legs are awful! The point is…” Alec stressed, booping Magnus’ nose. “We’ll be here for each other. Won’t we?”

Magnus nodded, running his thumb through the greying hair at Alec’s temple. “Always.”


End file.
